


Quid Pro Quo

by sealdog



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Light BDSM, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 55,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4616574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealdog/pseuds/sealdog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As the stranger slings an arm under his to walk them both towards a waiting car, Rhys slowly comes to the realization that he might or might not actually be kind of really fucking drunk. “Might” seems to be winning out over “might not” right now, which would really suck, considering the person he seems to have inadvertently picked up is a) really hot, and b) very clearly down for sexy times."</p><p> ---</p><p>Vaughn and Rhys just finished their first week as Hyperion interns. Rhys makes bad decisions. Jack just wants to get social services off his back (it's bad for his PR). Turns out having a(n interrupted) one-night stand the night before an interview is a <em>really</em> bad idea.</p><p>**chapter 6 is just the deleted scene from ch5, not an actual new chapter, sorry!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate ep.4 and me totally not crying my face off at you-know-what.
> 
> Mild dub-con tag is for Rhys being drunk as a skunk in the first chapter.

“Long day?”

Rhys looks up from where he’s plunked his head down onto his folded arms to see the bartender place two foamy glasses of beer on their table. Beside him, Vaughn is still covering his face with his hands and letting out a low distressed groan. Part of Rhys is honestly impressed at how Vaughn’s managed to make that sound constantly for almost five minutes now. He smiles tiredly at the bartender before nudging Vaughn and reaching for one of the drinks.

“More like long week, you have no idea. What’s in these?” He raises the glass to his mouth and takes a sip.

“Poison,” the bartender says cheerfully, and starts cackling when Rhys splutters and spills half his drink all over himself. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Vaughn finally take his hands off his face to squint at him.

“I’m joking! It’s beer. On the house, if you can give me a review of how it tastes. My girlfriend’s trying out some new combinations. So, how’s it?” The bartender takes out a rag and starts wiping the table down, pointedly nudging the other glass over to Vaughn, who obligingly takes a sip.

“Uh…” Rhys pats futilely at the beer on his jacket before giving up and reaching for his glass.

“Huh. Not bad,” Vaughn pipes up before taking another sip. “What’s that spicy taste from?”

Rhys takes a sip from his half empty glass. Admittedly, he’s not really a beer drinker, but this beer isn’t so bad. Sweet, thick, and yes, a spicy sort of tang to it. He takes another sip and says, “It’s nice, kind of sweet, I like that.”

“Nice try, cutie, the spice is top secret! Alright, any other comments?” When Vaughn and Rhys awkwardly take another sip each, she sighs. “You boys aren’t very useful, but you’re cute, so the beers are on the house anyway. Just gimme a wave if you wanna order anything else,” the bartender winks at them before turning back to the bar, leaving her rag on the table, which Rhys steals to surreptitiously dab at his jacket some more.

He sits with Vaughn in companionable silence for a while, before the weight of the week he’s had comes crushing back on him and he groans, slumping back onto his arms.

“I feel ya, buddy,” Vaughn mutters. “God, I can’t believe we thought getting into Hyperion’s internship program was hard. That was _nothing_. Nada, zilch. Why did we do this again?”

Rhys rolls his head so he can see Vaughn’s face. “Fame, glory, money, all of the above?”

Vaughn snorts. “Fame and glory are pretty much the same thing, bro. And it’s not like we’re getting any since we’re just lowly interns.” He squints and takes off his glasses to rub at them with his shirt.

“Gotta admit, the pay’s pretty good though. Even for interns. _Especially_ for interns. Did you hear? Margie from business got stuck with a Dahl internship, and apparently she’s not getting paid anything. Sucks, huh.”

They both sit in silence for a while, contemplating the horror that is an entire semester spent interning without pay. Hyperion may be exhausting, soul-sucking, and completely terrifying to work in, but at least they get a decent wage out of it, and a foot into actually properly working in Hyperion after they graduate.

Vaughn eventually snaps out of it with a shudder. “Here, c’mon. To Margie, may she find some way to pay her rent this semester. And to us! For lasting an entire week, only thirteen more to go.”

They raise their almost empty glasses, clink them solemnly, and down them together.

“Another drink? My treat, since us compsci badasses get paid more than you losers in accounting,” Rhys puffs his chest up only to deflate with a dramatic wince when Vaughn smacks him cheerfully.

“Hah, funny, let’s see you keep saying that when I get promoted over your scrawny ass. Get me another one of those beers will you, they’re pretty good.” Vaughn waves him off, and Rhys takes their glasses and goes over to the bar.

\--- 

As he heads back with their drinks, Vaughn looks up from where he’s frowning down at his comm. “Rhys…sorry bro, Henderson called. He wants me back in to double-check some stuff. Like, now.” He winces and gives Rhys an apologetic smile. “Guess you’ll have to drink that beer for me huh.”

Rhys sets the drinks down and joins Vaughn in frowning at Vaughn’s comm. “It’s Friday evening, bro. And everybody was already leaving when we left. Why’s he still there?”

Vaughn shrugs. “Dunno man, but it’s Hyperion. You know the rumors about how some employees literally never leave more than once or twice a month.” He rubs at his face, smearing fingerprints over his freshly cleaned glasses.

Watching him, Rhys feels a pang of sympathy for his best bro. Vaughn has been coming home consistently later than him for the past week, and Henderson’s clearly running him ragged, leaving Vaughn barely able to mumble greetings to Rhys when he comes home before falling straight into bed.

“Bro. Don’t worry about it man, he probably needs you because you’re the baddest most calc-savvy accountant he has, and he knows it. Go on, get back to the office, I’ll leave dinner in the fridge for you. We can celebrate our We-Survived-One-Week achievement tomorrow night.” He prods Vaughn off his chair and helps him put his jacket on, taking the opportunity to rub at his friend’s tense shoulders.

Vaughn gives Rhys a grateful smile and a bro-fist before leaving, but not without turning at the entrance to send finger-guns Rhys' way.

Rhys watches him go, and waits till he’s gone before slumping back down into his seat. He eyes the two drinks in front of him before sighing heavily and pulling Vaughn’s beer towards him first. Tomorrow they’ll probably be celebrating with drinks again, but tonight he _really_ needs something to get his mind off the week he’s had.

It’s not like working for Hyperion is bad or anything, he knows full well how lucky he and Vaughn were to get their internships there, considering most of their classmates have been stuck like poor Margie in internships that don’t pay much (or at all) at companies that don’t have nearly half as much the power and reputation of Hyperion. Just having the Hyperion name on their resumes is bound to make them attractive job candidates when they graduate, and their chances of getting to work properly for Hyperion itself are bound to skyrocket.

Look at Yvette, their friend a year ahead of them. She got an internship at Hyperion last year, and now she’s working there, although that doesn’t seem to stop her from mooching off them at lunches.

Shaking his head to get rid of the memory of Yvette wheedling a free lunch from them just earlier today, he downs the rest of Vaughn’s beer before turning to eye his own drink, a shiny cocktail the same bright yellow as the Hyperion badge on his jacket, picked precisely for that reason. Taking a deep breath, he picks it up and downs it too, to drown out the self-conscious edge he feels about drinking alone now that Vaughn’s gone.

\--- 

A fuzzy amount of time later, Rhys is shaken from his staring match with his…4th? 5th?? He would very much like to say 5th drink, but everything had gone kind of fuzzy after the 2nd yellow cocktail and Rhys is now really busy…having a staring match with his drink. The bright yellow seems to be mocking him somehow. Could drinks mock? This one could. Somehow. With its Hyperion face, kind of like Vasquez’s…

The prodding hand that had nearly broken his concentration earlier comes to wave in front of his eyes, breaking his line of sight. Which counts as the drink blinking, right?

“Hah, take that! You lose,” Rhys yelps in triumph, and raises a hand to high five the helpful hand. Or at least, he tries to. Instead, his chair somehow seems to take a side step away from under him, and when he blinks, he’s suddenly on the floor staring woozily up at the bartender.

“He-ey. Bartender. Janet, right? My new best friend- shh don’t tell Vaughn. You bring me drinks! You’re _great_ ,” Rhys enthusiastically tells her, drawing that last word out for really long to emphasize just how great she is. Which she is. She’s the source of the 6 (or was it 5?) drinks that he’d downed so enthusiastically, which automatically promotes her to best friend, because drinks…drinks are good.

“Oh my god, how are you so drunk? Those drinks have barely any alcohol in them, you lightweight. And you were fine two minutes ago!” the bartender sounds vaguely put out, and Rhys slowly drags himself up and back into his seat to get a closer view of her face.

“The bar’s closing, goofus. Go on, you gotta get back home or wherever, just not here.” She starts prodding at Rhys again, annoying little pushes that distract him with each new touch.

Rhys blearily looks around the bar. It does look suspiciously emptier than when he’d first arrived. But surely it’s not closing time? Closing time is…late, and he hasn’t been here that long. Has he? He fumbles in his jacket pocket for his comm, but as soon as he gets it out, it beeps at him in an almost apologetic manner before the power-down animation plays. Confused, he pokes at it. Beside him, the bartender sighs heavily.

“Your comm’s out of battery, dumbass. C’mon, lets get ya outta here.” She shoves the comm back into Rhys’ pocket, and squeezes her way under Rhys’ arm to pull him up, supporting them both as they make their way towards the entrance. Rhys watches, entranced, as his legs seem to move of their own accord, pulled along by the power of the bartender’s headscarf, or something.

Before they get to the entrance however, the door slams open, whipping cold air into their faces followed by a loud voice.

“Janey my man! Woman? My favorite bartender-slash-mechanic-slash-Athena-whisperer!"

Whimpering, Rhys squints and turns his face away from the cold air swirling in and into the bartender’s warm neck, only to be thrown abruptly away when she yelps in surprise and shoves at him. He stumbles straight into the source of the loud voice, which turns out to be a chest that’s very large and very warm and very good at blocking the cold air. Mumbling in relief at the warmth, he pats gently at the firm surface in gratitude.

“Uh. What the hell, Janey? What is this crap? Here, take it back,” the voice rumbles out, seemingly from beneath the warm surface he’s resting on, and Rhys’ appreciation of it is suddenly interrupted by two hands shoving him off and back to the bartender.

“One of yours, apparently. I didn’t know you’d stooped to hiring babies now, by the way, wow, and no don’t give him back to me! Or give me that look either, it’s closing time and you know it.”

Another pair of hands join the ones pushing at his front, only these are pushing from the back. Confused, Rhys tries to open his eyes but everything seems to be wiggling, and groaning, he closes them again, trying to bat weakly at the hands in front of him.

“Aw c’mon, Janey, I’m like, your favorite and best customer! One drink! Maybe two? Or a lot. Hah, don’t give me that look, you know I’m right. And stop shoving him back at me, I don’t even know this loser!”

One final shove comes at Rhys’ back and a muffled grunt from the voice in front of him as Rhys is pushed forwards into the warm chest. Behind him, a door slams, leaving Rhys trying to burrow his way into the warm chest to survive the cold outside.

“What the…hey kid. C’mon, kiddo, stand up on your own goddamn two legs- holy hell how do you walk on those stilts of yours?” One broad hand pushes him up and shoves him upright.

Rhys squints at the hand, and then at the other hand that suddenly appears at his chest to pluck at his nametag.

“Oh. Hyperion nametag. R-h-y-s. What even kind of…Wow, Janey wasn’t kidding, we’re actually hiring kids now? Jeez. Freakin’ lightweights.”

Rhys rolls his head until it’s planted against the warm neck of the person supporting him. The warm liquid feeling that has spread from his stomach to his body and that makes him feel all nice and fuzzy is loosening him up, making everything around him feel… _more_. The biting cold air at his back, the furnace-like body in front of him, and the large hands at his back and side. Pleased, he hums and presses himself against the pleasantly warm and hard body.

“Oh? Someone’s friendly when drunk,” the hand at his back begins to rub slowly up and down and Rhys can’t help but arch into it, enjoying the way it seems to make the liquid warmth pool in his guts, no…lower down. Groaning, he makes an attempt to lift his head to look at the face of the person bringing such light into his life, but the stranger’s other hand has smoothed its way up his side to land firmly on the back of his neck, under his jacket, holding him in place with a casually possessive strength that’s incredibly intoxicating. Giving up, he rubs his face into the person’s neck, mouthing faintly at the smooth hot skin there, mostly because it smells good and he wonders what it tastes like. He’s rewarded with a pleased hum from the person, and the hand at his back dips slightly lower, pressing his hips closer and encouraging him to slowly grind against the welcoming thigh pressing between his legs.

“Well, _hello_ , kitten. Looks like you might actually make up for the shitty alcohol-less night I’ve had so far. Hey. _Hey_.” The hands move to his shoulders to pull him away to arms length, forcing Rhys to squint and whine quietly, leaning forwards to try and get back to the nice position. Unfortunately, the hands don’t let go, and instead give him a little shake, which, _ow_ , rude.

“Heeey, sweetcheeks. How drunk are yo- Oh wow, look at _you_ , beautiful!” One hand finally lets go, but it’s to reach down and take Rhys’ mechanical hand, pulling it up to examine it. The stranger hums contemplatively, pushing the sleeve of Rhys’ right hand up to examine the joints at the wrist before dropping the hand to grab Rhys’ chin and force him to face the stranger instead of down where he’s been staring longingly at the stranger’s broad chest, beckoning him forward with it’s siren call of warmth and muscle.

When he finally drags his eyes up, he sees a vague impression of strong, angled features and a really nice mouth before his eyes slide back down of their own volition, and he slumps into the hands holding him up.

“Okay, kitten, how drunk are you, because I have plans for you and questions about that hand of yours- is it just your hand or your whole arm or? Wait no, seriously, how drunk are you right now, Rhysie?” The stranger slowly tilts Rhys’ chin side-to-side, only stopping when Rhys sluggishly bats at him.

“I…m’not drunk. And please don’t call me umm, don’t call me that.” He mumbles, then groans in relief as the hands pull him close again. “Feels good…you’re- you feel…” he trails off, arching his body into the stranger’s.

“Touch me again,” he whines, and hears a low chuckle before the hands begin to stroke down his back, firm warm pressure that dips slightly lower with each pass.

“Alright, no need to pout at me like that.” The stranger gives him one last stroke before smacking him on his ass, making him jerk sluggishly. “C’mon, pumpkin, let’s go back to mine.”

Unfortunately, as the stranger slings an arm under his to walk them both towards a waiting car, Rhys slowly comes to the realization that he might or might not actually be kind of really fucking drunk. “Might” seems to be winning out over “might not” right now. Which would really suck, considering the person he seems to have inadvertently picked up is a) really hot, and b) very clearly down for sexy times. Of all the ways to (finally) lose his virginity, drunk and unable to see his partner’s face was really not the way he wanted to tell Vaughn about later.

A small nagging part deep inside him that has been decidedly unimpressed with tonight’s events so far points out that he still doesn’t even know the person’s name, but he shushes it.

By the time they’re both seated in the blessedly warm taxi and the stranger has snapped directions at the pleasant voice of the taxi’s console, Rhys has forgotten both the nagging voice and his drunkenness. He loses himself in the way the stranger pulls him sideways to lean heavily against him, and in the sensation of a hand snaking its way down to press against the front of his pants.

It barely seems like any time has passed in the blur of hot mouths and wet, aching bites, sharp inhales, and “ _yes_ , kitten, c’mon,” but when Rhys surfaces, the car has come to a stop and the stranger is impatiently pulling at his hand, dragging him out and into the lobby of a very fancy looking building and into an even fancier looking elevator.

The stranger slams the button for the top floor and turns back to Rhys, pressing him against the elevator walls and going back to mouth at the growing hickey on Rhys’ neck with a vengeance, as if the short pause between the car and the elevator was a personal insult to him.

Rhys very willingly bends his head to the side and curls one hand into the stranger’s thick, wavy hair, carding through it gently. His other hand presses against the wall beside him, tenuously holding him up as he gasps and arches, the biting sensations at his neck sending spikes of pleasure threading through his body.

Getting from the elevator and to the front doors is another blur, one marked by hot breaths and stuttered groans, but when the door finally opens, they both stumble in and collapse on the floor, the stranger’s hand chivalrously coming up to cushion Rhys’ head before it hits. His weight and sheer breadth presses down on Rhys, making him breathless and even harder than before, and he bucks up, whining.

“Ha-aah, god. How are you- c’mon I want to feel you around my cock, stop distracting—,” the stranger grinds down against Rhys in blatant contradiction to his own words, hands working under Rhys’ shirt and pressing into his underwear. Rhys tries to cooperate, but gets distracted by the smooth skin at the small of the stranger’s back, lost in feeling the muscles there move sinuously under his fingers.

They stay there for a while, hands messily grabbing at each other while the cool floor beneath him slowly warms up, a pleasant contrast to the hot hard body pressing down against him.

Deliriously, Rhys wonders if he’s maybe drunk himself into an incredibly vivid hallucination. Everything about this stranger seems right out of one of his wet dreams, and believe him, he’s had a _lot_. He’s a young, red-blooded male, but between school and the LAN parties he and Vaughn have, there hasn’t really been any time or opportunities. This stranger though, is ticking _so many boxes_.

Just as Rhys thinks that, the stranger climbs up and pulls Rhys up along with him before cupping his thighs and lifting him right up off the floor, ticking off another one of those boxes in glorious style.

Unfortunately, the sudden change in altitude is doing funny things to his stomach, which had been protesting the lack of food and copious amounts of alcohol since before the car ride, but which now renews its protests with fervor.

“Oh god, put me- oh my god-,” Rhys slaps frantically at the stranger’s arms and stumbles onto all fours when the stranger releases him with a confused “Huh?” followed quickly by an “Oh, jeez!” as Rhys’ stomach wins the battle and he starts throwing up. Onto the floor that he’d just been lying on, which, now that he sees it from this angle, is clearly expensive and fancy to match the fancy building and fancy elevator.

Seriously, why? Why is his life like this?

“Aw man, that’s friggin’ disgusting, kiddo, what the hell,” the stranger’s incredulously offended voice cuts cruelly through the miserable fog that the good feelings have evaporated into in Rhys’ head, and he lets out an embarrassed moan that morphs into more half-digested alcohol making it’s way up and out of his mouth. 

“Oh my god, I give up, this night _sucks_ , this entire day sucks, I am completely surrounded by _imbeciles_ ,” Dimly, he hears the stranger’s voice, fading away as he stalks off.

Cringing, Rhys curls tighter into himself, praying that this is all just part of a horrible nightmare and he did not just embarrass himself so thoroughly in front of the first person he’s ever picked up and who is probably way beyond his league. The stranger’s voice and thudding booted footfalls come back again.

“Hey, piss-for-brains, do me a favor and get yourself the hell out of my house, and clean up that stinking mess before you do, because if I come out tomorrow morning, and either you or that mess is still there, you’re gonna regret ever coming out of your mom, and don’t think I won’t know where to find you either.”

That last bit is punctuated with a thin, pathetic rag that lands on Rhys’ head and slowly slides down the side to fall into the vomit he’s curled over. The stranger leaves again, footsteps somehow radiating irritation and exasperation with every thud, which eventually get cut off by the sound of a door slamming, very loudly.

Whining, Rhys almost bangs his head against the floor until he remembers that doing so would just compound the misery by smearing puke all over his face. Instead, he slowly crumples to the side, curling around the gross puke like some kind of penance.

Somehow, (he blames the alcohol still in his system,) he falls asleep.

\---  


A constant prodding at his robotic hand slowly pushes him to wakefulness, and when he opens his eyes a crack and uncurls his left arm from around his face, the blindingly bright sunlight that greets him throws him the rest of the way into really awake, and really fucking horrified.

Frantically, he sits up and looks down at the floor to confirm that, yes, he had apparently gone home with someone last night. And then puked all over their floor. And then gone to sleep, practically in the puke.

Groaning, he rubs at his face with his flesh hand, only to drop it in disgust when a faint, acrid tang hits his nose.

That’s when he sees the source of the prodding from earlier.

In front of him, kneeling fastidiously on the other side of the puddle of half-dried vomit, is a young girl, large eyes fixed on him in what’s either fascination or disgust or quite possibly both.

When she sees he’s awake, she flushes and quickly stands up, taking a few steps back, eyes still fixed on him.

“Hey, um,” Rhys calls out softly, not wanting to scare her. She takes a step back, and he winces, trying desperately to think past the pounding in his head.

“You smell.” Her voice pipes up, and he whips his head up to look at her. She wrinkles her nose at him and points at the puke. “You should probably clean that up. Daddy won’t wake up anytime soon, but he probably won’t be happy if he sees that.”

He gapes at her, confused. Is she the kid of the guy he went home with last night? What the hell, was the guy going to have sex with a stranger while his daughter was home? Christ, he hopes she’d been asleep by the time they got there. His memories of the night before are vague and fuzzy, but he definitely remembers making a lot of noise. Speaking of which, how did he even get here?

His attempts at recalling the night before are interrupted by the girl clearing her throat softly. He looks up at her apologetically. “Sorry, um. Hey, do you know where I can get stuff to uh, clean this?” He gestures helplessly at the floor.

She gives him a small smile and nods, turning and walking off. “There’s a sink, you can wash up there. I’ll get you some of daddy’s old clothes.” She points ahead and to the left, and then quietly disappears through a door set into the wall on his right that he never noticed before.

In her absence, Rhys struggles to get up, eventually manages it, and takes stock of himself. Okay, his shirt is a crumpled untucked mess, and he’d somehow managed to fall asleep with his jacket half twisted off him, but when he shrugs it back on, it covers the crumpled indignity of his shirt, and the only puke on it is on the left sleeve. His pants, however have a long streak of dried puke along the left side that he grimaces at, and there’s a horribly sticky feeling in his underwear. Great.

He makes his way to the sink, casually looking around and not-so-casually gaping at everything he sees. Everything in here looks like it would take him about a hundred years of interning at Hyperion to afford. Each.

Also he’d apparently fallen asleep near the dining area, and he silently thanks his lucky stars that he hadn’t puked onto the incredibly soft and expensive looking carpet beneath the dining table.

When he’s done scrubbing at his jacket and pants with water from the sink, he turns around, wondering where the girl is. And when it turns out she’s been sitting at the breakfast bar behind him, patiently watching him all this while, he absolutely does _not_ jump or startle in any way.

“Here, pants and a shirt. They’re daddy’s, but from the pile he never touches, so it should be okay?” She tilts her head at the clothing in a pile next to her.

Rhys dries his hand off and picks them up. An old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, both grey with red and black stripes along the side. He nods his thanks at her, but then freezes as he realizes he has no idea where the bathroom is.

“Um, may I use your bathroom?” He waves the clothing awkwardly.

She points behind him, but says, “You should probably change here though, the door’s coded for daddy’s and my access only. I won’t peek, I promise” and follows it up by very seriously turning around and placing her hands over her eyes.

Rhys looks between the door she pointed, which does indeed seem to have some kind of scanner lock, and the girl who sits there with her eyes still covered, legs swinging, in a manner more patient than any kid has a right to be. Weighing his options, he decides the potential embarrassment of having a kid see his body seems like a better option than accidentally setting off an alarm and waking up her father. Vaguely, he seems to recall something about—

_get yourself the hell out of my house, and clean up that stinking mess before you do_

— and he undresses as fast as he can, gulping nervously. When he’s done, he bundles his still faintly vomit-scented clothes and clears his throat.

“Oh, you’re done? That’s fast,” the girl spins on her chair to face him again. She then points to a spray bottle and cloth on the table, and says “Cleaning supplies,” eyes fixed on his now exposed robotic arm.

She doesn’t say anything though, which is fairly nice, because most people usually just ask, and he’s definitely not up to answering questions about his arm right now.

Nodding in acknowledgement, Rhys gingerly sets his bundle of clothes down, making sure that the part touching the floor is clean, and gets to work.

When he’s done, he looks up. The girl is no longer watching him, but tapping at the smallest comm he’s ever seen, legs idly kicking at her chair again. As if feeling his gaze on her, she looks up and tucks her dark hair aside from where it’s fallen over an eye.

“All done? Okay, you can leave the bottle there, but take the rag with you.” She hops off the stool and looks at him expectantly.

Taking the hint, Rhys grabs his clothes, places the bottle on the counter where she points, and follows her to the entrance.

Before he gets out of the front door though, he turns around and says to her, “Thank you, for waking me up and…the clothes and stuff. Um, bye,” and turns and flees. Behind him, he hears a soft echoed “bye…” but then he sees the waiting elevator, and sprints towards his freedom.

\---

When he finally gets back, after a very frustrating time of trying to find a taxi and then not realizing that he’d been right smack in the rich private sector and therefore incredibly far away from home and his taxi fare really way more than he can afford, he closes the door and turns to smack his head against it. Unfortunately, he underestimates the distance, either due to the banging headache behind his echo-eye, or because he is the _biggest fucking idiot ever_ , Christ.

“Ow…why…” he moans, regretting everything.

“RHYS!!”

Yelping, he spins around, almost dropping his clothes as he realizes he’s not alone in the living room. In front of him, Vaughn bolts up from where he’s camped out on the couch, worried lines running all over his face.

“Oh my god, you asshole! Where were you last night, I was worried sick!” Vaughn’s still wearing the clothes he had on last night, and Rhys feels a pang of guilt. As he opens his mouth though, Vaughn’s eyes suddenly narrow as he takes Rhys’ appearance in.

“Did you- oh my god bro, did you hook up with someone?! Is that a massive hickey on your neck dude that is totally a massive hickey on your neck! _Nice_.”

And Rhys is abruptly reminded of the events of last night and especially why he’s in a stranger’s clothes. Flushing, he awkwardly tries to cover the bruise on his neck before giving up and going over to sit down beside Vaughn, slumping against him and dropping his head onto Vaughn’s comfortable (and actually weirdly buff for such a short dude, but never _ever_ tell him that) shoulder.

“Vaughn, bro…I fucked up man,” he sighs and allows himself to slump even further. “After you left I drank some of those Hyperion yellow drinks, dude don’t ever drink those drinks—”

At this point, Vaughn interrupts with a “Dude, the bright yellow ones at Janey’s have like, barely any alcohol in them man, how many did you drink?”

Rhys frowns, holding up a hand to try and count them off. “Uh, 5 I think? Maybe 6?”

Vaughn snorts and gently shrugs the shoulder Rhys is leaning on. “Bro…you’re a lightweight man, just resign yourself to it. Okay, go on, you fucked up. Did you strip naked on the table or something?”

“Ha, ha, that was one time. And we don’t ever speak of that! And nooo, I somehow picked someone up while drunk and we went back to his place and…thenIthrewuponhisfloorandpassedout” Rhys cringes at the memory.

There’s a long silence, and then Rhys feels Vaughn kind of…jiggling underneath him. Surprised, he sits up.

“Bro, are you crying? Out of pity for me? Or are you- oh my god you’re laughing. Yep, laughing. That’s great, bro, thanks very much!” That last bit is drowned out as Vaughn gives up on holding his laughter and starts cackling and whooping madly.

“Oh my god, dude, only you man, only you. Ah, Rhys, what would I do without you in my life,” Vaughn pantomimes wiping at his eyes, and Rhys scowls and punches him. “Okay, but. Is that why you’re wearing new clothes? Because you—” pause for snickering, thanks Vaughn, very brotherly of you, “threw up all over yourself?”

Rhys looks down to pluck at the ill-fitting clothing he’s wearing. The shirt is way too big for him, slipping off a shoulder, and the pants are loose on the hips and hang about an inch or two short. They’re comfortable though, worn soft and thin.

“Yeah, the guy’s kid gave me some of his old clothes, and helped me get the cleaning stuff. Oh, did I mention? He’s got a kid. Cute kid, about 6 or so. Kinda likes to sit and stare really quietly though.”

“Huh,” Vaughn says, frowning. “He has a kid, but brought you back? To the house where he’s staying with the kid? Oh my god, what if he’s cheating on the kid’s mom? Dude! You’re the other woman!”

Rhys rolls his eyes, pretending not to feel the twinge of unease. What if he _had_ been like, a random pickup for the guy to cheat on someone with? It would’ve been just his luck, really.

“Wait. You puked all over your clothes? Like, the ones you’re holding right now? As you’re sitting next to me?! _Dude_!” Vaughn squawks, and shoves Rhys away and off the couch. “Oh my god, bro!”

\---

When Rhys gets out of the shower, feeling a lot better for being clean and back in his own clothes, he’s assaulted by the beautiful, awe-inspiring smell of bacon. Still drying his hair, he walks past the dining table and pokes his head into the kitchen.

“Hey bro, you’re finally out. Here, breakfast.” Vaughn slides two plates of eggs and bacon onto the rickety dining table while Rhys pours out juice for them both, and they squeeze in to eat, elbowing each other for space.

“You still owe me dinner from last night, by the way. And for making me worry,” Vaughn points out in between mouthfuls of bacon. “And then another for cooking breakfast your hung-over ass today. As the friendly accountant to your code-monkey ass, I highly recommend you round it up, and just treat me to dinner for all of next week.”

Rhys snorts, but before he can answer, their house comm rings. After a fast and furious 3-round match of scissors, paper, stone, he goes to pick it up, ignoring Vaughn’s triumphant crowing in the background.

“Heeey Fiona—,” his greeting is interrupted by a loud garbled shriek coming from the comm. Wincing, he leans around the end-table the comm sits on to jiggle the comm's connector properly into place. Damn thing got knocked loose once, and they’re both too lazy (and broke) to afford to repair it properly.

The connection clears up quickly, and Fiona’s familiar voice comes through.

“Rhys? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, hey, sorry. The comm was being weird again. ‘Sup? Vaughn’s home too, want me to put you on speaker?” he says, grinning obnoxiously at Vaughn’s panicked reaction.

“Yeah, sure, and you can tell that calculator tapping jerk—” a hologram of her head pops up above the comm to indicate her being on speaker, “that he still owes me two shirts after his last moronic attempt at cooking dinner with Sasha.” Vaughn and Rhys both wince at the memory.

“Yeaaah, hey Fiona. Sorry about that.” Vaughn mutters apologetically.

“Good. You better be. Anyway, I didn’t call just to remind him about that. I’ve got a job for either one of you. Yes, I know you’re both supposed to be taking a break while you do your internship, but Sasha’s _really_ sick, because she and August somehow decided to try cooking with skag juice for some reason, and they’re both suffering from it, aren’t you?” That last part is answered by a distant groaning sound. “That’s Sasha, by the way. She says hi.” The groaning sound gets louder before petering off. Rhys mouths “skag juice?” at Vaughn, who shrugs, looking equal parts confused and nauseated.

“Anyway, I don’t think this will be anything you guys can’t handle. One session a week, every Saturday afternoon, and nothing too strenuous, since the client only wants to cover the basics. I really want this client on our roster though, if only just for how much he’s willing to pay. He’s got a 8 year old daughter who’s been homeschooled so far, and he wants someone to go just over the basics with her.”

At “8 year old”, Vaughn starts shaking his head and muttering “nope”.

“I can’t hear anything but I’m guessing Vaughn is refusing? Still traumatised from the last calculator menace, Vaughn?” Fiona’s voice is teasing, and Rhys grins as Vaughn scowls at her hologram head.

“No way, Fiona. Nuh-uh. I’ll buy you your shirts, just don’t make me do this one.” Vaughn picks up his plate and cup, and goes into the kitchen to clean up, ignoring Rhys when he holds up his own plate in mute plea.

Giving up, Rhys sets his plate back down and goes back to finishing his juice. “Yeah, he’s in the kitchen now. So who’s this client, anyway? And why’s he willing to pay so much for basic stuff?”

There’s a sighing sound from the comm, which is always kind of weird for Rhys because it’s not like the holo head's mouth moves to match it, but well.

“Well…I don’t know who the client is, either. Whoever it was insisted on privacy, but they came with really good references. Can’t say I know why they wanna hire a tutor to teach an 8 year old basic stuff either, but maybe it’s a really eccentric parent? Anyway, they're willing to pay a lot. Like, up to 4 times our normal pay rates.” Fiona’s voice sounds impressed, which is…impressive. Then Rhys makes the calculations, and nearly spits out his juice.

“Holy crap!”

“Uh huh.”

“Man, Sasha’s going to be really mad she missed this.” Rhys shakes his head. Sasha is in Vaughn and Rhys’ year, but she opted not to do the internship because she didn’t want to have to stop working at her sister’s tutoring agency. Missing out on a job like this would really suck, and there’s no way her and August’s skag juice experiment would’ve been worth it.

“Yep, she is.” In the background of Fiona’s wry words, he can hear Sasha kind of going _hnarhghganhgaughg_ very expressively. Vaughn, returning from the kitchen, gives the comm a double take, and turns right around to go back into the kitchen.

“In any case, there’s a catch.”

Damn it.

“There’s no guarantee you’ll get the job; he wants a trial session first, like an interview of sorts. Sasha was supposed to go in today, but, well. Will you go, Rhys?” Fiona’s voice is pleading. “Even if you don’t get it, Sasha can go again next Saturday. But if there’s nobody for the first meeting it’s unprofessional and embarrassing, y’know?”

Rhys nods before remembering that the holo-Fiona can’t actually see him. “Right, yeah, I got it. Thanks for the vote of confidence, by the way, boss, really encouraging of you.” Ignoring Fiona’s sarcastic laughter, he continues, “So, when and where?”

\---

After an hour or two gaming with Vaughn, the last remnants of his hangover are gone, and he’s ready to leave to meet the new prospective client. Checking himself one last time in the mirror (his most professional blue shirt: neat and tucked in, his tie: also neat and also tucked in, his pants: a beautifully neat crease down the sides and long enough to cover his socks, his socks: unprofessional but entertaining, and out of sight anyway so whatever, his shoes: shiny), he picks up his comm, makes sure the address Fiona sent is in it, and leaves to find a taxi.

As the taxi speeds off towards the building, he fiddles around on his comm. There’s a picture from Fiona of Sasha lying half off the couch with a bucket next to her, and he chuckles, replying with a picture of Vaughn shrieking into his controller after Rhys beat the crap out of him from earlier today. He’d known that pic would be useful.

After checking around on his Hyperion and school emails and replying Vaughn’s message about dinner tonight, he puts his comm away and looks up, expecting the taxi to reach soon. When he glimpses the meter, he winces at the fare, but unlike this morning’s trip, this ride would be covered by the agency, so he just shrugs and tries not to look at it.

The taxi eventually pulls to a stop in front of a building that looks vaguely familiar. Waiting for the taxi’s console to finish deducting his credits, he looks around the equally vaguely familiar street, wondering if maybe he’d come here before to tutor someone else or something.

The elevator of the building only makes the twinge of uneasy familiarity worse, and pressing the button for (seriously?) the penthouse apartment leaves him feeling a distinct sense of déjà vu, coupled with a foreboding kind of aftertaste.

Getting out at the penthouse level, he walks to the only door on the level, and is hit by a horrible dawning realization. Surely…no, no way, even his normally shitty luck wouldn’t be _this_ shitty, right? Oh, crap. Maybe he got the address wrong? Nope, the blinking dot on his comm suggests he’s at the right door. Or possibly the wrongest door he could be at, depending on how you looked at it.

Desperately trying to convince himself that this kind of coincidence was way beyond any league of possibilities, he steels himself and rings the doorbell.

Whatever feeble arguments against odds and luck he had all dwindle and flee when the door is opened and he sees the same girl from this morning.

“Oh, you again. Hello?” The girl frowns at him, looking him up and down.

Rhys tries to say anything, literally anything, but all he can do is gape.

“Angel? Is that someone from the tutoring agency?” A loud voice approaches from inside the house, and the door the girl (Angel?), is holding is pushed all the way open, and Rhys abruptly wishes he could hurl himself down the elevator shaft.

“You.” Angel’s father, and the guy whose floor Rhys had puked on last night, as well as the guy who has really nice warm hands that Rhys _definitely_ remembers grabbing him by the butt last night, stands there, eyes narrowed at Rhys in disdain.

Rhys clears his throat. “Um, hi. Yes, me,” he says, trying desperately to hold eye contact with Handsome Jack, Hyperion’s CEO, and the man even Rhys’ terrifying boss is terrified of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta-ed bc I'm completely new to this fic writing thing, please let me know about typos and stuff!! Or if I'm using the tags wrongly or something and imma get on fixing that shit asap ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was only gonna be 3 chapters at first but the 2nd chapter was getting rly long and I'm stuck on the very last bit of it, so I figured I'd split it into 2 and upload the first bit first ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> ok also what is the etiquette regarding commenting?? bc I wanna thank each of you individually but I feel like I'm just clogging things up alskdjfhs so I'm gonna shut up and stop, but jsyk every time I got a notif for a comment I wanted to like run around and scream a lot, and it was v awkward since 90% of the time I was in class haha. no srsly tho ty all for reading and commenting *hearteyes @ u all*

“You,” Handsome Jack agrees, eyes still narrowed at Rhys. Oh jeez, how had he missed those eyes and the freaking _mask_ last night?! You’d think having someone’s face at your neck would make it hard to miss that kind of thing, but apparently not.

“What, didn’t puke over enough of my floor last night? Back to finish the job?” A large part of Rhys (okay, nearly all of him) wants to run back to the safety of the elevator and abandon the job, but he remembers Fiona’s words, and more importantly, how much she’d said the client was willing to pay, and steels himself, nervously running his hand over his hair and setting his jaw.

He holds out his hand to Jack, and says, “Hi, my name is Rhys. Fiona sent me to interview for the tutoring position for your daughter.” Towards the end his words kind of waver a bit, but that’s because Jack’s blatantly ignoring his hand in favor of giving him a long look up and down. The smirk on his face is making Rhys feel _really uncomfortable_ , and Jack seems able to tell, because the smirk only widens when Rhys feels a flush start at his neck.

Deciding to ignore Jack, he turns instead to Angel, who’s still standing beside Jack, eyeing them both with the same quiet intensity he remembers from this morning. Crouching down so he’s eye level with her, he holds out his hand to her instead.

“Hi, Angel, right?” She glances up at her father before looking back to Rhys and nodding warily. Encouraged, he continues.

“I’m Rhys, sorry about the way we met earlier today, but thanks again for your help this morning.” A snort comes from above them, but Rhys firmly continues ignoring Jack, and Angel reaches out to shake his hand shyly, which he takes as a good sign.

As she takes his hand, her eyes go to it like they did in the morning when she first saw the robotic hand, and she only lets go after giving him a very lingering handshake. Still, she doesn’t ask any questions, and Rhys kind of wonders if she’s just naturally uncurious (which would make her the first kid he’s ever met who is), or if she’s just very polite, or something else.

Standing back up, he turns back to Jack, mentally preparing himself. “My apologies for my behavior last night, I uh,” he glances back down at Angel, who’s still watching his hand with fascination. “I don’t really remember everything, but I know I made a mess, so…sorry about that.”

Jack’s eyebrows shoot up when Rhys says that, but he doesn’t say anything, and actually, doesn’t even seem to be looking Rhys in the eye. Confused, Rhys looks down, following Jack’s line of sight, only to turn red and frantically adjust the collar of his shirt, where the bruise Jack (oh my god _Handsome Jack_ gave him a hickey, Vaughn is _never_ going to believe this) gave him last night peeks out, a violent purplish-red.

Flushing, he fiddles with the collar some more as the silence in the doorway grows awkward between the three of them.

Finally, Rhys looks up, eyes flickering over Jack’s face to try and gauge his reaction. To his surprise, Jack catches his eye, and then grins at him, slowly. It’s kind of terrifying, but also really attractive, but that might be because it’s terrifying.

Rhys’ mouth is so dry right now.

“Wait, so you don’t remember _anything_ from last night? Wow you must’ve been really frigging confused when you woke up today, huh. Which, by the way, good job cleaning up after yourself, especially since you apparently don’t remember me telling you to. Good, initiative, very responsible. Sort of.” Jack reaches forward and claps Rhys on the shoulder heavily. “But what makes you think I’m gonna let an alcoholic with no sense of personal space get anywhere near my baby girl? Hah, you crack me up, kiddo. Well, bye now! I’ll let everybody know exactly what kind of tutoring company you guys are running, so. See you never!” He pushes Rhys away from the door and makes to close it.

Panicked, Rhys jams his foot in between the door and the doorjamb, only to regret it when Jack just raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him and slams the door into his foot. And then again. And again.

“Ow- Oh my god, wait, will you- Please hear me out!” Rhys yelps in between the sharp bursts of pain as Jack continues to gleefully slam the door against his foot. Beside Jack, Angel watches on with the same expression she had when she was waking Rhys up in the morning, somewhere between long-suffering and distaste.

“Look, I’m really- ow! Sorry about last night! But that’s on- _ouch_! me, and not on Fiona or the rest, please give them another chance? Sasha and Vaughn are really responsible, and anyway it’s kind of your fault!!”

Okay, so he hadn’t meant to blurt that last bit out but the pain in his foot is _really_ antagonizing. And, it kind of works?

Jack stops banging his foot with the door, and stares incredulously at Rhys instead.

“What’s that, sugar? _My_ fault? That you got so drunk at Janey’s and came onto me and then puked all over my floor? Seriously, cupcake, wanna try that again?” The weird thing is, Jack doesn’t actually look _angry_ angry. Instead, he actually looks like he’s interested in whatever excuse Rhys can come up with. Which is unexpected, but still very terrifying.

Rhys glances down at Angel, who’s still quietly watching their conversation. “Look, can we- may I please come in?” He doesn’t mention the fact that his foot is _really_ beginning to throb now, because he has a feeling Jack would just laugh.

Jack looks down too, and seems almost surprised to see his daughter watching them, as if he’s forgotten she was there. “Huh, sweetheart, why don’t you go and get the stuff you prepared for your first tutoring session and wait for us in the living room?” When Angel nods and patters off, he turns back to Rhys. “And you, you can go stand where you threw up last night. I’m sure you remember _that_. Well, are you coming in or not?”

Rhys cautiously steps in, trying and failing to cover up his wince when he puts weight on his definitely bruised foot. He fails, if Jack’s smirk is any indication. Jack closes the door behind him, locking it with some taps on what looks like an ordinary part of the door, but which respond to his taps by whirring and clicking the door into place.

Fascinated by this glimpse at the lifestyle of the rich, famous, and murderous, Rhys activates his echo eye to try and scan the mysterious mechanism of the door. When he tries though, an error message flashes across his eye, and he gets a jolt through his head for his trouble.

“Fuckin’- _ow_!” He hisses, clutching at his face, only to yelp in more pain when Jack smacks him in the back of the head, hard.

“Language,” Jack’s voice is as jovial as ever, but there’s an undercurrent of genuine threat for the first time, and Rhys straightens up instinctively.

“Did you try to do something to my door? Use your comm?” Jack peers at him. “Oh! Right. I wanted to ask you last night, before you went all puke-athon on me. What’s with your arm?” He casually reaches for it, but holds his hands up when Rhys jerks back without thinking, eye still stinging from the scan.

“Uh, my arm? It’s based on something I did for my undergrad thesis. Made an arm prototype with rudimentary programs for every day use, and got offered the chance to make one of my own when somebody at Hyperion saw my thesis and liked it. And I wasn’t trying to do anything to your door! I was just wondering how it worked, so I tried to scan it,” Rhys rubs at his echo eye. The last of the sting seems to have gone, but he avoids even looking at the general direction of the door, just in case.

“Scan? With your eye? Ooh, ooh! Lemme see,” Jack makes a grabby motion at Rhys’ face. Musing to himself that Jack’s one to talk about personal space, Rhys allows him to take hold of his hands and move them away to get a closer look.

It’s always mildly uncomfortable when people stare at his eye, but the fact that the person doing the staring is a) Handsome Jack, his boss’s boss’s boss b) the person he’d picked up last night and c) father of the child he might be tutoring, makes Rhys kind of squirm, although he tries his best to stay still.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be enough for Jack, who grabs his chin in one hand and leans in _even closer_ , making Rhys freeze up, not even daring to breathe.

“Good boy,” Jack murmurs distractedly when Rhys stops moving, tilting his head to the side to get a better angle before finally releasing Rhys’ face and stepping back.

Rhys lets out the breath he’d been holding in, trying to ignore his body’s reaction to Jack’s entirely innocuous words.

“Huh. Wonder how I missed that last night. Probably distracted by you grinding up against me. Anyway, interesting piece of tech, that eye of yours. Kinda outdated, but impressive you got it in the first place. Most people wouldn’t dare, especially for a model as old as yours. I’d ask to take a closer look, buuuut I don’t think you’d like that. Now, the arm, c’mon,” Jack wiggles his fingers expectantly, eyes fixed greedily on Rhys’ arm.

“Look, Handsome Jack, uh, sir,” Rhys tries to firmly steer the conversation back to Angel and the tutoring. “I came here because I was told you were looking for a tutor for your daughter?”

To his surprise, Jack starts laughing so hard he snorts. “Oh my god, did you seriously think- Oh, kiddo, that’s cute. You thought _Handsome Jack_ would need a tutor for his kid? Hah! Nice try. Angel’s a genius way beyond the comprehension of your undoubtedly puny little brain, and anyway she’s getting taught by me, another genius way beyond the comprehension of your puny little brain. It’s cute though, how you think you can match up.” Wiping at his eyes, Jack mutters to himself, “ _tutor_ for your _daughter_ ”, and sets off into another fit of laughter.

Pricked into irritation, Rhys snaps, “Well you’re the one who called for a tutor!”

“Oh? Someone’s prickly today, huh. Need a drink to soften yourself up, cupcake?” Jack straightens up to smirk at him, still sniggering. “Nah, apparently I am ‘not giving Angel the opportunities she needs to socialize herself’,” his voice goes high pitched and he rolls his eyes as he mimics whoever it is he’s mimicking. “Stupid jerkfaces think they know better than her own father. Maybe for the rest of you mundane normal people, but Angel’s _special_ , and she doesn’t need that kind of thing, she’s got _me_.” Towards the end, his voice goes low and kind of, not threatening, but incredibly full of conviction and intensity, and Rhys is at a loss for words.

“Anyway, no need to worry your pretty little head, pumpkin. All I want is for someone to come in once a week or so, spend time with Angel- under my supervision of course- and to convince those social services people that Angel is as normal as any other dumb kid her age. Which she’s _not_ , but since they can’t seem to grasp that…” Jack shrugs expansively, and grins at Rhys. “What, did you think I’d actually hire some no-name tutoring agency for my baby girl? When I can afford literally anything else on this planet?” He snorts. “Please. The small fry are just easier to intimidate into silence, capisce?”

Trying to wrap his head around Jack’s reasoning, Rhys blurts out the first thing he can think of. “So, you could hire me then? Or- ok maybe not me,” he adds hastily when Jack gives him another lookover and a raised arched brow. “But Fiona has other tutors in her agency. It’s not like you need a- a proper tutor, right?” He winces inwardly at how he’s implicitly insulting his own friends and himself, but forges on, keeping the reminder of how much Jack had been willing to pay forefront in his mind. If he’s not gonna get hired, he can at least help Sasha get the job, right?

“I’m not saying you have to hire me, I wouldn’t blame you either, but…Sasha, another tutor, she’s really good with kids, teaching them and talking to them or whatever. She’ll help you convince the social services people, if that’s what you need. I believe you, that Angel’s smart, but just in case, Sasha’s also really good at tutoring too!”

Jack is once more staring at him like he’s a fascinating specimen or something, like he’s looking past Rhys’ skin and bones and into his internal organs. Taking his silence for encouragement, Rhys goes on. “She can’t come today, but you can set up another appointment with Fiona, later this week, and you’ll see, really, Sasha’s _great_! Kids just like, open up to her, y’know? One time-,”

Jack thankfully cuts off his rambling. “Okay, kiddo. I’m sold.” He claps his hands together, and lets out a snort of laughter at Rhys’ surprised expression.

“Wait, really? Hold on, lemme call Fiona for you-,” Rhys stumbles over his own words in his excitement as he fumbles for his comm. Maybe he didn’t completely fuck things up after all! Fiona might not have to kill him! He might survive this with his dignity intact! And maybe keep his internship too!

All these thoughts screech to a halt when Jack reaches forward and plucks the comm from his hand.

“Ah ah, pumpkin.” Jack holds the comm behind him. Right, as if Rhys is even going to try and take it back from him, honestly. He’s got one robotic hand and no wish to replace it, or get another one to match.

“I’m hiring _you_ ,” Jack pauses, and then adds, “Well, technically, I’m already your boss, aren’t I? Okay, I’m gonna be double your boss then. Go on, you can celebrate. No more throwing up, though, that stuff was nasty.”

Seeing that Rhys isn’t making any attempt to get his comm back, Jack moves his hand back in front of him, and starts tapping at the comm, at first casually, then with growing irritation.

“How do you- outdated piece of- Here, I can’t handle your crappy comm, put my number in it yourself.” Jack tosses Rhys’ comm at him and turns to stalk into the house.

Fumbling to catch it, Rhys follows after him. “Wha- I don’t know your number?”

“Angel, sweetheart, say hello to your new tutor!” Jack ignores his question and waves expansively at Rhys. In the living room, Angel sits cross-legged at a low table, several books spread out in front of her. At her father’s words, she looks up, and smiles at Rhys.

“Well, go on then, go…tutor and stuff. I’ll be watching, mind you. Like a hawk. With lasers for eyes. Pshew pshew.” Jack goes behind Rhys, and shoves him rudely towards Angel. Rhys turns around to give him a scowl, but is only met by a truly demented grin, and two thumbs up.

Giving up, he goes over to sit next to Angel, warily glancing back at Jack, who’s now settled into one of the chairs at the breakfast bar, and is indeed watching them, but nothing like any hawk Rhys knows of.

“Hi Angel! Jack says you prepared some stuff for your first tutoring session?” At her nod, he continues in a low tone. “That’s really awesome, and I would high-five you if your dad wasn’t sitting there and being really nosey,” and follows it up with a conspiratorial wink. She lets out a little giggle at that, and promptly claps her hands over her mouth, eyes darting towards her father. Rhys follows her gaze to see Jack narrowing his eyes at him.

“What’s that, you two gossiping about me already?” Jack calls towards them, but makes no move to get up from where he’s sprawled over the breakfast bar, eyes still fixed on them.

“Uh, no, nothing sir.” Rhys replies, before turning back to Angel and putting one finger to his lips. He’s really relieved when she plays along, nodding seriously and mimicking the gesture.

“Well then, wanna show me what you got?”

\---

After a few hours spent with Angel as she showed him the stuff she was reading and the projects she was working on (under Jack’s supervision, that is), Rhys is actually really impressed. Jack hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said Angel was a genius. For an 8 year old, she has a surprisingly thorough grasp of physics and engineering, and speaks with the seriousness of an old man and vocabulary to match.

Not that Rhys had been doubting Jack or anything, it was just that sometimes parents didn’t really have the best grasp on their child’s abilities, and Jack’s determination to homeschool her had not been particularly reassuring.

This time though, he suspects that Angel’s capabilities are way beyond any tutoring skills, let alone his. However adult-like she might seem though, she was very much definitely a child, and one who seemed unused to any form of prolonged attention, going by the way she quickly opened up to Rhys’ attention, and by the way Jack’s attention had wandered off in the first 10 minutes despite the declaration of his intent to observe. He’d stood up after a while and walked off through the door Angel had pointed out as the toilet earlier in the morning.

When Rhys had asked Angel, she’d said, “Oh! That leads to my room, and the bathroom and daddy’s study,” and when Rhys had continued staring after Jack, she laid a hand on his, and told him very seriously, “you shouldn’t go in there, Rhys. It’s _very_ boring.”

After two hours on the dot, Jack had come back out of wherever he’d been, and looked at where Angel and Rhys were playing an intense game of slappy-hands.

Turns out Angel had practically zero contact with other children her age, or many people at all, and was very eager to practice social things she’d read about. Rhys couldn’t say he approved of Jack’s parenting methods, but he was pretty sure he could predict how Jack would react if he said anything, so he just quietly resolved to try and bring as much normal childhood-ness to Angel as he could.

When Jack sees what they’re doing, he rolls his eyes and gestures at Rhys to join him.

“Hey sweetie, I’m borrowing Rhys for a while, you’ll be a-okay on your own right? C’mon then, move fast, chop chop.” That last part’s directed at Rhys, and emphasized with a lot of wild gesticulation and foot tapping.

Rhys pauses and glances at Angel, who has already placidly taken one of the books out of her pile, and started flipping through it. He feels weird just leaving her though, so he offers her up a fist to fist-bump. Startled, she looks up, and then gives him a brilliant and incredibly adorable smile before returning the fist-bump.

When Rhys gets up, Jack has the weirdest expression on his face, but he doesn’t say anything, and instead grabs Rhys by the shoulders to propel him through the door. Through the door is a small corridor, and Jack directs him through the door on the right and into an office with lots of shelves, a heavy looking desk with a massive screen, and a fantastic view of the stars behind it.

Jack finally lets go of Rhys to walk around and sit at the desk, gesturing at the space in front of it. “Go on, sit! Let’s have a nice chat.”

However, the only other available chair in the room is currently being weighted down by a pile of…well, he wants to say tech project, but honestly it looks more like junk to him. Lots of wires and half screwed plates. Rhys debates between moving the junk off the chair and disobeying Jack’s direct order, eventually decides on _not_ possibly breaking one of Handsome Jack’s projects and getting himself killed, and moves to stand in front of the desk.

“Ha, what’s wrong with that chair? Nah, I’m kidding, good thing you didn’t touch my stuff, or I would’ve shot you,” Jack taps at the gun in his holster. Rhys winces.

“Aw, c’mon, I was kidding about that too. Like I’d actually shoot you with my daughter sitting outside. Actually, who am I kidding, I totally would, ha! Okay but back to business.” He leans forward, bracing his forearms on the table. “So, my Angel. What d’you think?”

Rhys looks at Jack’s expectant face, and finds himself unable to say anything but the truth.

“She’s an amazing kid. Incredibly intelligent, verbal, and the most patient kid I’ve ever met.” As he speaks, Jack closes his eyes and spreads his arms, beckoning for Rhys to continue with a smugly satisfied smile on his face. “I uh, she’s definitely got a better grasp of physics and mathematical theory than I did when I entered university. Her reading breadth is astounding, and she drops in references to philosophers I’ve never even heard of; it’s kind of amazing. She’s only 8?”

“Yep.” Jack pops the last consonant, eyes still closed and the beatific smile still on his face. “My Angel.” He opens his eyes to stare at Rhys with a heavy lidded gaze. “You look like you’ve got questions, pumpkin.”

“Well, yeah, I mean- I didn’t even know you had a kid, for one? And I think I’d notice a news article about y- uh, wait, you’re not gonna kill me now that I know you have a kid, right?” Rhys laughs nervously.

“Aw, pumpkin. It’s almost like you actually _have_ a pumpkin for a head, you’re so dumb. I just told you I was hiring you to tutor her, c’mon, catch up already.” Jack rolls his eyes, an expressive gesture that encompasses his entire body.

“Haah yeah, I knew that. Jokes. I was- joking,” Rhys lies weakly.

“Right.” Jack rolls his eyes again before reaching over the table and beckoning at Rhys.

Confused, Rhys looks at Jack’s hand, wiggling on the desk, and back up at Jack’s face before hesitantly stepping forward and placing his robotic hand into Jack’s.

Jack stares at the hand for a while before looking up at Rhys with an expression that speaks volumes, and follows it up with, “You’re an idiot.”

Scowling, Rhys moves to take his hand back, but Jack grabs hold of it.

“At least you’re an _entertaining_ idiot. I was asking for your comm, but this works too. Come on closer then, I wanna take a closer look at this beauty.” Jack’s practically cooing at Rhys’ palm which is quite frankly rather alarming.

“How’s the articulation? Mm, that’s some good stuff. Hyperion made, you said? Man, I gotta find whoever looked at your project and thought it was worth working on and give ‘em a raise or something. Initiative, I like that. To a point, anyway. You’ve scored well on that so far, by the way, good on you. Almost makes up for your gross display of half-digested alcohol last night,” Jack pats the side of his forearm absently before turning it to look at the elbow joint, muttering to himself.

Rhys patiently waits there, kind of bemused. It’s not like the design of his arm is anything new or even particularly outstanding, complex for an undergraduate thesis to undertake alone, perhaps, but he’d heard of some high-schooler on Eden-5 who’d done some new things with robotics that put many undergrads to shame, so who knew?

Jack eventually looks up from his scrutiny of Rhys’ hand, but only because Rhys was fidgeting and accidentally jerked his hand.

“Not too great at the staying still thing, are you?” He comments, but lets go, and Rhys takes his hand back gratefully.

“Why’d you call me in here anyway?” He can’t help but ask.

“Here,” Jack takes a small package out of his desk drawer. “Who’s a lucky boy who’s getting a brand spanking new comm for free, and a model that’s not even out yet, thanks to my generosity? That’s right, pumpkin, it’s you!” His tone is saccharine-sweet and paired with an obnoxious grin.

“I went to check, do they really not give you interns Hyperion comms? I thought they did, huh. Anyway, I’m giving you a Hyperion comm! Way better than that crapsack one you’re carrying, and my details are already in there. Every Saturday, same time as today, you come over, spend some time _socializing_ Angel,” the sneer on his face as he air-quotes “socializing” is fairly impressive, even by Jack’s standards, “and if you need to change the timings, or if we’re not home and there’s a change of plans, which shouldn’t happen, but y’know, you call me.”

Rhys takes the proffered comm and turns it over in his hands, frowning. It’s bright yellow and black, and almost as small as the one he saw Angel playing with earlier.

“Something wrong, cupcake?”

Shrugging, Rhys places the comm into his pocket. “Um, nope. Sir. Wait, actually,” he takes a deep breath. “Not trying to shoot myself in the foot here or anything but…why’d you change your mind? About hiring me, that is.”

When he looks up, Jack is once again giving him the inscrutable look he had earlier after Rhys fist-bumped Angel.

“Uh…never mind. I’ll just…go back to the living room?” Rhys backs away, fumbling behind him for the door.

“Yeah, don’t shoot yourself in the foot, not unless you're prepared to clean it up.” Jack waves him off. “Oh wait, one last thing. Two things. The door to these rooms is coded only to Angel and myself; if you need to piss, get Angel to open it for you, because the toilet’s in here too. Also I should probably let you know that I’m not gonna fire you at Hyperion or anything, s’long as you know how to keep your mouth shut. Drop by to make insinuations and disparage your entire office’s work, maybe. Okay, probably, hah! But eh, who hasn’t gotten drunk and felt up their boss before, am I right?” He winks at Rhys before turning back to his screen.

Rhys watches on for a while, marveling internally at how he’s seeing _Handsome Jack_ in his own home, and how he maybe possibly might get to see more of it in the future. Then Jack looks up, one eyebrow quirked, and says, “Go on, get. When it hits 5, you can go back, there’ll be a car waiting. You can piss off anytime now.”

Rhys takes the hint and leaves.

\---

When he gets back, it’s to an empty house.

A note on the fridge says Vaughn got dragged out shopping with Fiona, please come rescue him. Snickering, Rhys scribbles a “HAHA HAVE FUN” and a smiley face on the end of the note and sends a picture of it to Vaughn.

That done, he goes to flop on his bed, and has the freak-out that he’s been holding off since Angel had opened the door this morning.

Of all the…he’d picked up _Handsome Jack_ while drunk, how even?!

Mournfully, he wonders how sex with Jack might have gone. The worst thing is, it’s not even like this is a new fantasy of his or anything. Sure, the CEO of Hyperion was pretty much every compsci student’s idol and fantasy, but now he knows what Jack’s hands feel like when they grab at his thighs, that Jack could probably hold him up against a wall, and that Jack very definitely has a neck thing, going by the massive bruise on his throat that twinges just as he thinks about it.

He guiltily touches the hickey with his flesh hand, enjoying the ache and the knowledge of who left it there. Unbidden, he gets a flash of last night, specifically, of Jack’s weight pressing down on him, and the feel of the muscles on Jack’s back underneath his hand.

Groaning, he turns over on the bed, pressing down into his mattress. The temptation to just give in and rut into the bed while pressing against the hickey is incredibly strong, but the remaining shreds of his self-preservation and dignity are screaming at him to _please_ not jerk off to the guy who just hired him, and so he gives up and goes to take a very cold shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmk if you find typos, etc! also!! aljdslajhf thank you guys for all the comments and kudos I'm so amazed people actually like this???!?! I was genuinely expecting like 2 people to click on it tbh.
> 
> thank you guys for reading ;; I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint OTL
> 
> ps: coming up next!! Lilith! A swimming pool! Sexy times! Not all at the same time though, sorry :c


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i reread the stupid sex scene _one_ more time i'm deleting the whole thing ugh I'm so done with it OTL

Weeks later, they’ve settled into a comfortable routine. During the week, Rhys works at his internship and tries not to get killed by his boss or fuck anything up, and meets Vaughn and Yvette for lunch where they all commiserate about their jobs over the admittedly pretty decent Hyperion canteen food.

Twice, Jack actually makes good on his threat and drops by the computing division on the 8th floor to yell at everybody for their incompetence. Rhys always makes sure to stand as far back in the conference room as possible, but somehow, Jack always manages to catch his eye and toss him a wink, leaving Rhys flustered, fumbling at his comm, and pretending not to see anything.

Vaughn and Rhys slowly settle into their respective internships, and Vaughn even gets to go home at a normal time with Rhys once or twice a week, as opposed to staying in the office late Monday to Friday.

The conversation where Rhys tells Vaughn that the client is Handsome Jack and Handsome Jack is the guy Rhys went home with goes something like this:

“Bro, have I got news for you.”

“Did you get promoted? Is this why you’re treating me to ice cream? Oh man you are the _best bro ever_ come here Imma give you the biggest bro-hug the world has ever seen-”

“No no, sit down man, you’re gonna want that chair when I tell you the news. Okay bro, you comfortable?Okay. So. You remember the guy I went home with that night and uh, puked on?”

“Hah! Like I could forget! I already pre-ordered a cake to celebrate the anniversary of that next year, by the way.”

“ _Vaughn_!”

“It’s chocolate, don’t worry!”

“Ooh, chocolate. Wait no stop distracting me with cake! Okay, you’re never gonna believe me but. The client Fiona sent me to interview with? With the 8 year old kid?”

“Oh my god, bro. No way.”

“Yes way.”

“ _No_.”

“Yep.”

“ _Bro_. I actually totally believe you though. Your luck is just that bad. Ooh, remember when the rakk-”

“We don’t talk about that!! And okay wait no, here’s the really unbelievable part. Uh, you can’t tell anybody this, but. The client is um…Handsome Jack.”

At this point, Vaughn starts laughing so hard that Rhys gives up and shoves him off the sofa. He also takes back his ice cream in revenge, just because. (It’s really good ice cream; he doesn’t regret anything.)

The next Saturday, he takes a discreet picture of himself with Jack in the background, sitting at the breakfast bar and yelling into his comm. Vaughn doesn’t reply all day, but when Rhys gets home, he finds Vaughn packing their stuff into bags and muttering something about finding the next shuttle to a different planet, apparently because Rhys having worked for Jack for two weeks already hasn’t convinced Vaughn that Jack isn’t gonna kill Rhys. Sometimes, Rhys isn’t entirely convinced, himself, but…well, he tries not to think about it.

But it all worked out and now Vaughn is the one who goes with him to buy games and puzzles for Angel. Rhys is still working up to ask Jack if Vaughn can come along sometime, because he thinks Angel would like that, and Vaughn can definitely keep a secret, but honestly, Jack’s just terrifying, so.

Friday nights are when he and Vaughn go to Janey’s, where Rhys has apparently been banned from ordering more than one alcoholic drink a night, _rude_!

One time, they meet Janey’s girlfriend, an intimidatingly stoic woman who apparently works in security, and who gives them both incredibly suspicious glances, but who also watches Janey with an incredibly soft look in her eyes when Janey isn’t looking. (She caught Vaughn and Rhys staring. They left as quickly as they could.)

Saturdays, Rhys spends the morning hanging out with Vaughn, catching up on their bro-gaming time or on work, depending on how the weekdays go, and in the afternoon, he gets into the sleek car that Jack sends, and makes his way over.

Angel is always enthusiastic and gratifyingly happy to see Rhys, and Rhys always brings a few games from home for them to play together. He’s not really sure what “socializing” entails, but Angel picks up games incredibly quickly, and she’s only gotten more open and affectionate with each week, and he’s just happy to spend time with her.

Turns out she’s generally pretty quiet, but will babble happily on for hours if given the attention. Jack more often than not is holed up in his office when Rhys is there, but sometimes he comes out and watches them play, announcing his presence with snorts at Rhys’ expense as he loses to Angel in their games, or one particularly memorable time, by coming up behind Rhys and scaring the crap out of him by blowing into his ear and then collapsing on the floor, cackling. Angel, who had totally seen Jack coming but hadn’t warned Rhys, is laughing too, so Rhys just glowers at Jack and demands to restart their game.

The fourth week, however, Jack pulls Rhys aside as he’s about to leave. Rhys glances past him, but Angel is still playing with the 3-D puzzle Rhys had given her in the living room.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks, trepidation coloring his voice. He’s still honestly not entirely accustomed to Jack’s presence, and the tight grip of Jack’s hand around his upper arm isn’t helping.

“Wrong? Nah, I just wanted to let you know, we’re meeting the social services people next Thursday and I want you there.” Jack lets go of Rhys’ arm, and leans against the dining table.

“Oh, yeah, sure thing. Wait, what about work-,”

“Nah, taken care of, c’mon, I’m the big boss, have some faith in me. You can leave at lunch. I’m bringing Angel to her favorite restaurant, wait in the office lobby, we can go pick her up together.” Jack looks Rhys up and down, and says long-sufferingly, “ _Please_ tell me you have something decent to wear.”

Offended, Rhys looks down at his own outfit, a short-sleeved button down and slacks, coupled with a tie that’s neatly tucked in. It seems pretty okay to him, especially in contrast to Jack, who’s wearing his regular ludicrously yellow sweater over sweatpants.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” He protests, gesturing at Jack’s outfit. “Whenever I’m over you’re always wearing that!”

“Hah, nice try pumpkin, I know you’ve seen me wear other stuff at work before. Anyway I’m talking about your _tie_ , god, who told you clip-on skinny ties were a good idea?” Jack scowls, and flicks at Rhys’ chest.

“Ow!” Rhys yelps, rubbing at the smarting sting.

“Psh, I barely hit you! Don’t be a baby.” Jack flicks him one more time, grinning at Rhys’ glare. “Okay, see you on Thursday kiddo, and if I see any more clip-on skinny ties I’m gonna tie you to the toilet bowl with them.” Jack’s eyes flick to Rhys’ wrists before he grabs Rhys to turn him around, and starts pushing him out of the door.

Rhys lets himself be pushed, calling out over his shoulder as he goes, “Jokes on you, your toilet is awesome and I will happily stay there rent-free, thanks very much,” and smiles to himself when the door shuts behind him, cutting off Jack’s cackling laughter.

\---

Come Thursday, Rhys is now the proud owner of the widest fucking tie he can find, tied into an incredibly uncomfortable knot around his neck courtesy of Vaughn, who had shaken his head and muttered that Rhys has a death wish, but helped him anyway.

Best. Bro. Ever.

At lunchtime, he leaves with the rest of his office, but stops at the lobby to wave them off and wait for Jack. He ends up waiting for 15 minutes, and is on the verge of asking the receptionist if Jack has already left, when the elevator doors open, and Jack is standing right there.

Getting up from the chair he’d been sitting in, he waves awkwardly at Jack, who stalks straight towards Rhys when he spots him, a cheerful grin on his face that turns sour when he sees Rhys’ tie.

“Very funny, pumpkin.” He scowls at the tie, grabbing it as he strides past Rhys to drag him along towards the front doors.

Squawking, Rhys almost trips over himself trying to follow so he doesn’t get choked, and wheezes a bit when Jack finally lets go as they reach the waiting car outside. Rubbing at his neck, Rhys ducks his head and enters the car, apparently not moving fast enough because a booted foot shoves him in before Jack enters the car as well.

Once they’re both in and the car has started, Jack turns to Rhys to glare at the tie.

Regretting the impulse that had led him to try and be funny, Rhys digs around for the spare tie in his pocket. “I brought a normal one! It was a joke, ha ha…” he trails off, shrinking back into the plush seats.

To his surprise, the glare disappears, and Jack starts laughing, a full-bellied, knee-slapping laugh, that makes him jostle into Rhys.

“Oh my god, Rhysie, you are my favorite person. Nah, keep the tie on! It’ll give Angel a laugh.” Chuckling, Jack takes the spare tie, rolls the car window down, and makes to throw it out.

“My tie!” Rhys yelps, leaning across Jack to try and grab it back from Jack.

Unfortunately, when trying to reach for the tie, he overbalances and slams his hand down on the nearest surface to try and catch himself before he falls onto his boss’s lap. Even more unfortunately, the nearest surface that his robotic hand lands on…is his boss’s lap.

About the only saving grace he has is that he didn’t hit anything uh, delicate, but this means he ends up with a hand on Jack’s thigh, half over him, with his other hand tangled in the same tie Jack’s holding.

Freezing, he glances down to see Jack staring at him, an expression somewhere between the laughter from earlier, and something else.

They stay there, eyes locked, for a long moment. The wind whipping in from the open window tosses Jack’s wavy hair around, and Rhys can feel his own hair coming loose from where he’d carefully gelled it into place this morning. His heart is thudding so hard, he wonders if Jack can feel it.

Then the car makes a turn, and Rhys is jolted back into his seat, tie in hand. Clearing his throat and looking away, he settles himself more comfortable into the seat, and rolls his tie up to put back into his pocket.

Beside him, Jack is suspiciously silent, and Rhys tries to get a surreptitious glance over to see his expression, but he can feel Jack’s eyes on him, and doesn’t dare to turn too much.

Finally, Jack snorts, and says, “Change your tie after lunch, the social services people have like, _zero_ sense of humor,” and turns away, to Rhys’ relief.

\---

The car pauses outside the apartment, and an excited Angel is ushered into the car by a large, grizzled man who nods at Jack, gives Rhys a disinterested glance-over, and waves goodbye to Angel, before gently closing the door after her, pausing to nod seriously when she chirps “Bye Wilhelm!”

Angel crawls over Jack to make herself comfortable between Jack and Rhys, and Rhys answers her questions about his tie with only mild mortification. As they talk, he glances behind Angel to Jack, but Jack seems content to page through the files on his comm, contributing only a snide comment or two to their conversation.

When they reach the restaurant, the entire place is empty, and at Rhys’ questioning look, Jack nods significantly down at Angel, who’s clinging onto Jack’s hand and enthusiastically looking around the empty restaurant.

Understanding dawns on Rhys, along with a small pang of sadness. Nevertheless, Angel seems to be genuinely excited about being in a place that isn’t home, and he covers up the sadness with excitement to match hers.

Lunch, served by a maître d whose eyes slide over Rhys and Angel with professional disinterest, is delicious, way beyond the kind of food Rhys normally eats, and he eats ravenously. Angel, too, eats with an appetite that belies her small size, but Jack barely touches his own food, instead looking between the two of them with amusement.

After lunch, they head out to wait for the car in the lobby. Rhys absently rubs at his stomach, enjoying the satisfying feeling of being too full on really good food. Ahead of him, Jack is crouching down to examine a potted plant that Angel’s pointing at, nodding seriously in answer to her words. Watching them, Rhys thinks to himself that it’s almost kind of cute, the way Jack is with his daughter. Which is of course when Jack stands up to kick the plant over, and both father and daughter crouch down to poke at the overturned dirt.

Rolling his eyes, Rhys joins them, taking out the replacement tie. Slinging it over his shoulder, he undoes the tie he’s wearing, and starts tying on the new one, only to remember that he still doesn’t know how to tie a tie.

He fumbles at the tie for a while, but his best attempt only produces a wonky, lopsided thing. Giving up, he straightens it as best as he can, and crouches down to see what Angel and Jack are poking at.

“Rhys! Look, worms!” Angel excitedly holds up a…yep, that’s a worm all right. Rhys makes a face at the wriggling thing between her fingers, and she giggles before placing it carefully back into the dirt to join its wriggly brethren, watching them with fascination.

“What happened to your tie?” Jack reaches over with a dirt-smudged hand to poke at Rhys’ chest. Scowling, Rhys brushes the dirt off his tie, and stands back up.

“You’re the one who told me to change ties!” He says, rubbing ineffectively at a particularly stubborn spot.

Standing up, Jack grins gleefully before planting his palm squarely on Rhys’ chest and smearing the dirt _all over_. Yelping, Rhys stumbles back, and falls onto his butt.

“Yeah, nah, I wasn’t talking about that, I was talking about that mangled knot. Nobody ever taught you how to tie one? That why you wear clip-ons? God, I’m embarrassed just thinking about your _life_.” Jack brushes the dirt off his hands over Rhys’ body, and then offers Rhys a (now clean) hand up half-heartedly, which Rhys ignores pointedly to get up on his own.

“Oh my god, my shirt…” Rhys groans, giving up on trying to brush the smeared dirt off and glaring at Jack. “Seriously?!”

“Hah, what’s the big deal? You can just borrow one of mine later. Seriously, stop avoiding the question, do you just not know how to tie a tie?” Jack peers at Rhys’ tie in consternation. “Even Angel knows how to, ain’t that right sweetheart?”

Angel nods, standing up too, and reaching forward with (thankfully clean) hands to wiggle her fingers at Rhys neck. “You’re too tall, Rhys!”

He obliges, stooping down so that she can reach and redo his tie for him, which she does with nimble speed.

“Wow…thanks, Angel!” He fingers the now neat knot at his tie, and offers her a high-five in gratitude, which she happily returns.

Jack chooses that moment to interrupt their moment of friendship by rolling his eyes and shoving them out of the lobby and towards the waiting car.

\---

They make a detour past the penthouse to get Rhys a new shirt, despite Rhys’ protests that he can just button up his jacket, and they’re soon on their way towards the meeting.

As they drive along, Rhys fiddles with the cuffs around his wrists. Jack and he are around the same height, but Jack’s a lot broader, and the shirt’s really loose around his shoulders and arms. When he looks up, feeling eyes on him, he catches Jack’s gaze, heavy and contemplative, on the exposed skin of his neck.

Rhys flushes, remembering the massive hickey that had been there for almost an entire week and who put it there, and looks away, trying to ignore the sudden pounding of his heart.

Fortunately, that’s when the car pulls to a stop outside the social service center, and Jack breaks his gaze off to open the door for them.

They make their way into a meeting room, where two people are already waiting.

Jack nods dismissively at them before releasing Angel’s hand, and flinging himself into one of the dinky chairs in the room. Rhys lingers in the doorway, unsure of where he’s supposed to go. Sit beside Jack? Go say hi to the social services people like Angel is doing?

His decision is made for him when one of them comes forward to shake his hand, a red-haired woman with a firm handshake and an intense gaze.

“Hi. Lilith, nice to meet you. You’re the tutor Jack hired?” Her voice is cool, and so is her gaze when she flicks a glance over at where Jack’s sprawled comfortable over his chair, watching them.

“Ah, yeah. I’m Rhys, Angel’s uh, tutor.” Rhys wants to wince at the lie because if anything, Angel’s the one teaching him stuff, but Jack’s reminder in the car before they came up was very clear.

Nodding, Lilith turns back to where Angel is now playing…slappy hands? Yep, that’s it, she’s playing slappy hands with the other social service officer, a huge man buffer than Vaughn, who’s crouched down to play with her.

Rhys is _so_ fired.

Turning, he tries to mouth an “I am so sorry,” at Jack, but Jack only gives him a puzzled look before gesturing for Rhys to sit beside him.

They sit there for the hour-long session, watching as Angel plays with the huge officer and cheerfully answers Lilith’s questions. Rhys desperately hopes that they find everything satisfactory, not just for his job’s sake, but also because the few other times Jack mentions the social services people, usually because they’ve called demanding he bring Angel by for a check-up, he’s always been incredibly cranky. Rhys suspects some kind of past feud, or that they have something over Jack, because one, how did they even know Angel existed? There’s literally no mention of her out on the comm-broadcasts, and Rhys had checked, very thoroughly. Two, it doesn’t seem at all like Jack to acquiesce to any demands, even if his acquiescence is with ill grace.

The hour passes without incident, however, and at the end of it, Jack gestures for Rhys to stay in the room with Angel while he and the social service officers leave to discuss matters. Rhys very willingly does so, glancing between Jack’s tense shoulders, and Lilith’s hard gaze at Jack.

Not 10 minutes later, Lilith re-opens the door to wave them out, the irritated frown on her face melting away as she smiles at Angel with genuine fondness.

“Hey cutie, we’re all done over here. Thanks for coming over, and for indulging Roland’s slappy hands obsession.” She gives Angel a wink, making Angel dissolve into giggles.

“Oh! And here’s an early birthday present, your birthday’s next week, right?” she takes her arm out from behind her back to give Angel a floppy stuffed rabbit with a blue ribbon, which Angel accepts with a small gasp.

“Thank you Lilith!!” She darts forward to give Lilith a quick hug before letting go, looking pleased and self conscious about it.

Lilith ruffles her hair and gives the bunny a pat on the head before straightening up. She gives Rhys a fleeting smile marginally less chilly than the one she’d given him earlier before pointing them towards the elevator where Jack’s waiting, a thunderous look on his face. Taking Angel’s hand, Rhys makes his way over.

“Daddy! Look what Lilith gave me!” Angel waves the bunny in the air excitedly, thrusting it into Jack’s face when she reaches him.

“That’s…very nice, sweetheart. Come on, daddy’s gotta go back to work, I’ll drop you off at home so you and bunny can get to know each other, kay?” Jack absently pats the bunny, pushing it away from his face. Rhys watches as Jack exchanges one last glare with Lilith before the doors close, and they head down.

Angel spends the car ride back humming and zooming the rabbit around, explaining to her how the car works, and why the air is still around them even though they’re moving, and how she’s gonna digistruct the most awesome bunny-sized house for bunny to live in.

Her cheerful mood is a stark contrast to Jack, who sits in his seat like a mini thundercloud of doom, gazing out of the window with a dark look in his eyes. Rhys, on Angel’s other side, plays along with Angel, but he tries to do it as unobtrusively as possible, glancing over at Jack every once in a while to check.

When they reach the penthouse, Angel climbs out to a waiting Wilhelm with a parting hug from Rhys and a kiss from Jack, leaving Rhys sitting alone in the car with an angry boss.

“Um, I can get off here and take a taxi back, if you want me to?” He suggests, wilting when Jack just turns to give him an incredibly unimpressed look.

He fidgets mutely for a while, until the silence thankfully broken by Jack shaking himself and speaking up.

“I’m going back to the office. You can go back with me, or go home. The car will take you back after I get off.” Giving Rhys a lingering look, he adds, “Good work today, by the way. Don’t think those jerkfaces have anything to complain about, so. Good work.”

“I uh, I’ll go back to the office with you,” Rhys offers, relieved when Jack merely nods in response.

Rhys takes his leave of Jack when the office elevator reaches the 8th floor with a sigh of relief. Jack is generally a really intimidating person to be around, but his loud and gleeful sadism is a _lot_ easier to deal with than when he’s all…quiet and thunderous.

Rubbing his face with only slightly trembling hands, he shakes off the lingering trepidation from their silent car ride, and goes back to work.

\---

The following Monday, Rhys brings a present for Angel to work with him. The Saturday after the meeting with Lilith and Roland (where Jack had thankfully gone back to his normal jovial self), he’d checked with Jack to find out that, yes indeed, Monday was the day Angel would turn 9.

So when work ends on Monday, he makes his way over to the penthouse, present in hand.

When he knocks at the penthouse door however, there’s no reply, which is weird because as far as he knows, Angel is almost always at home, even if Jack isn’t. Frowning, he knocks again, then tries the door-comm. Still no reply.

An edge of worry creeps into his mind. It’s not like Jack doesn’t have his enemies; just last week two employees had been found out to be spies from the old Atlas corporation, trying to rebuild after Hyperion had taken over several years back. Jack had them brought to his office, where he’d shot them in their legs, and then had them airlocked. The live screening of the entire thing had played on every single Hyperion comm and screen for the rest of the day, along with a short clip of Jack grinning into the camera and saying, “That’s what happens to spies, traitors, and people who don’t flush after using the toilet, kiddos!”

He knocks on the door some more before it occurs to him that the comm Jack gave him has Jack’s personal number, and then he spends another few minutes wondering if this would be an appropriate time to use it.

Finally, he decides to just call it, and the nervous trepidation in his gut dissolves when the comm is picked up instantly, and Jack’s voice says, “Rhysie! What’s up, kitten? Oh, Angel says hi by the way.”

Relieved, he leans against the door and replies, “Please don’t call me that, Jack. Anyway, sorry for calling your personal comm, I was just dropping by to give Angel her present, but nobody was home, and I was worried. She’s with you though, so I guess I’ll just bring her present on Saturday or something. Oh! Help me wish her happy birthday, please?”

The comm crackles for a bit before a screen pops up with Jack’s face on it, making him jump.

“Aha, the video thing works. Nice angle, pumpkin, I can really see way up your nostrils from here.” Jack’s face on the screen sniggers obnoxiously. Rhys grimaces, and moves the comm higher up.

“Yeah that’s better, gotta get a nice angle of that pretty face of yours,” Jack winks, and behind him, Angel pops up over his shoulder to wave at Rhys excitedly.

“Hi Rhys! We’re at the zoo, come join us!”

Waving back to Angel, who gets distracted by something offscreen and runs off towards it, Rhys asks, “Wait, how’d you get the comm to do a live screen? I thought R&D was still working on it?”

“Nah, this model should be going into production later this year, you just happen to have a very generous and magnanimous boss. Wait, have you seriously not checked the comm out yet? I gave it to you _weeks_ ago!” Jack frowns, and Rhys offers up an apologetic shrug.

“Yeaaaah, anyway, just come on down. Angel wants you to be here, Christ knows why, since we’ve already seen a whole bunch of monkeys and giraffes- oof! Sweetheart, c’mon, you gotta admit that was funny! Ok see you in a bit, cupcake, the car’s already on its way over.”

The screen flickers off before Rhys even gets to reply, leaving him blinking bemusedly at the comm.

\---

The zoo, when he arrives at it, is empty, which confuses Rhys for a second until he remembers the empty restaurant.

“Right…” he mutters to himself, as he’s waved through the gates by heavily armed guards, who kindly point him towards where Jack and Angel presumably are.

Wandering through the empty streets of the zoo, he gazes around at the enclosures in fascination. The last time he’d been to the zoo was back when he was a kid, ages ago. There are a lot more animals now, some he’d never even seen before, including a few that seem to be more a result of Hyperion slag experimentation. Those, he tries to avoid, mostly because the smell of slag makes him want to throw up.

He eventually hears splashing sounds and Angel’s laughter, and wanders over in that direction, still marveling at all the animals around.

The animal enclosures eventually taper off into a recreation area, and the splashing sounds lead him to a massive pool, complete with slides that twist around each other, or go straight down, and one particularly massive monster that starts so far up Rhys cringes just thinking about going on it.

He spots Angel and Jack in the shallow end of the pool, and goes over. Angel’s in a cute swimsuit that’s not a terrible shade of yellow, so he thinks she probably chose it herself. Jack, on the other hand, is in a predictably ridiculously bright yellow pair of trunks and…nothing else. Gulping, Rhys averts his eyes from the broad expanse of chest and the hair tapering down, trying to focus on the ugly yellow shade of the swim trunks instead.

“Happy birthday Angel!” He calls out as he reaches them. Angel immediately spins around and makes her way over. “Oh, here, I got you something. Well, it’s from Vaughn too, he helped me find those cards from last week for you, and he helped me find this present too. He says happy birthday, by the way. Uh, don’t tell your dad Vaughn knows about you though,” he adds, uncomfortably aware of Jack’s shirtless presence wading up towards them. She immediately nods, and places a finger over her lips, eyes fixed on the present with bright curiosity.

“Pumpkin, you made it!” Jack hollers, coming up behind Angel and scooping her up and out of the water. She shrieks and laughs, kicking her feet, until Jack tosses her back into the pool, whereupon she emerges, delight written all over her face.

“Daddy, again!” She clambers up Jack’s torso with the help of Jack’s indulgently raised arms. When she’s clinging onto Jack’s back, she pauses to wave at Rhys.

“Why aren’t you joining us, Rhys? C’mon, the water’s really nice! And Daddy can throw you too, it’s really fun,” she splashes water towards Rhys with her feet, grinning at him from over Jack’s shoulder.

“Yeah, c’mon cupcake, I promise I’ll be gentle when I throw you,” Jack winks, and maneuvers Angel around so he can toss her, legs flailing and shrieking, back into the water. Rhys doesn’t miss the barely there pause after “I’ll be gentle”, and it takes nearly all his willpower to suppress his blush.

“Ah, sorry Angel…I didn’t bring any swimwear…I’ll watch you guys from here with your present!” He turns to walk towards where there’s a pile of clothes, recognizably Jack’s from the familiar jacket and vest, to place Angel’s present down.

“Nuh uh, pumpkin, don’t think you’re getting outta this!”

Rhys whirls around at the gleeful voice, only to get caught up by Jack grabbing him around the middle and heaving him over his shoulder. Squawking, he drops the present on the floor to clutch desperately at Jack’s back.

“Oh my god! Jack, no! Angel! Help meee-,” he yells, clinging on for dear life as Jack, oh god _no_ , Jack jogs over to the deep end of the pool, casually hoisting Rhys over his shoulder like it’s no big deal.

“Angel! Ignore the nerd and take his comm out of his pocket!” Jack casually overrides his pleas for help with a shout over his shoulder, one hand going up to smack Rhys' butt to shush him. Trotting up behind them, Angel deftly slips Rhys’ comms and other tech out of his pockets, fending off Rhys’ pleading and clutching with giggles.

“Jaaack no please I don’t have a change of clothes don’t do- _oh my g_ -” he flies into the pool, landing with a massive splash.

He surfaces to the sound of Jack’s cackling and whooping, and Angel’s cheering.

“Very funny, guys! Oh man, my _hair_.” He mournfully runs his hands through his hair, trying to get it back into place, before giving up and paddling over to the side of the pool to heave himself out. Only to embarrass himself, as his arms fail him and he slips right back into the pool, accompanied by the sounds of Jack’s renewed laughter.

“You are the _worst_ ,” Rhys moans as he struggles and finally manages to get himself out and turns to glare at them. Angel grins wickedly, an expression that he’s very definitely seen on Jack’s face before, and gives him two thumbs up. Jack, though, Jack is suspiciously silent, and Rhys flushes when he realizes that Jack’s blatantly ogling at the way his wet clothes are clinging to his chest and thighs.

Distracting himself, he turns to Angel and points at her, saying, “Angel, you have ten seconds to run!” before he launches himself at her, giving his best evil laughter. She turns and flees, shrieking, but he has the advantage of longer legs, and soon catches up.

Grabbing her, he picks her up and spins her around in a circle before setting her down.

“Nah, who am I kidding? You’re too cute to throw into the water,” he smirks at the pout on her face. “Wanna go on the slides instead?”

“Yes!” Angel’s pout brightens into a beaming smile, and she grabs him by the hand, pulling him towards the slides. As they go, she calls behind her, “Daddy come on! We’re going on the slides!”

From behind, they hear Jack’s unhurried footsteps and his response, “Yeah yeah, I’ll catch ya up.”

\---

When they’re all exhausted after multiple rounds of going down the slides, they collapse at one of the pavilions beside the swimming pool, Angel flopping onto her father’s stomach with ease. Rhys eases himself down to sit beside them, pleasantly tired from all the running around and climbing.

“Hey Angel, sweetheart, you wanna go one more round to say bye to the animals before we go for dinner?” Jack’s voice is low and content, and one hand absently strokes through Angel’s hair.

“Mm…in a bit, please?” She mumbles, clearly half asleep.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Jack continues stroking Angel’s hair, until she dozes off, soft breaths puffing out to disturb the strands of hair that have fallen over her face.

Rhys watches as Jack looks down at his daughter with an unspeakably fond expression on his face, so at odds with the normal expressions of rage, murder, and gleeful cruelty that’s usually there. Occasionally, he kind of wonders if Jack really does love his daughter; for all he’s undoubtedly proud of her, he sometimes talks about her like she’s…a product, or something, something proprietary in his tone. Seeing the way he is with her right now though, and thinking back on the multiple assassination attempts on Jack’s life as eagerly recounted on the news, he thinks that maybe he understands why Jack would think it necessary to keep her hidden from everybody, to keep this part of himself protected. Not that he agrees with it, of course. But he thinks he can understand, just a little bit.

His musings are interrupted when Jack turns his head to meet his gaze, the unspeakably fond expression turning into something more casual and calculating.

“It ain’t polite to stare, kitten,” Jack’s voice is soft, but the look in his eyes isn’t.

Swallowing, Rhys doesn’t look away, and says, “I was just wondering if I could borrow some clothes or something to go home in. It’s kind of getting cold with these on,” he plucks at the sodden clothing clinging to him.

“I dunno,” Jack says, looking him up and down. “I kinda like the look on you,” he finishes, giving him a lewd grin.

“Hah, funny.” Rhys snorts, not wanting to acknowledge the many stares Jack had given him. He thanks his lucky stars that his self-control has held out so far and he hasn’t jerked off while thinking about Jack, because it would be _really_ hard to meet his eyes right now if he had.

“What? You’re a good looking guy, Rhysie, you gotta own that kind of thing, y’know?” Jack gestures at himself and raises an eyebrow at Rhys.

“Right…not sure I want to catch a cold trying to ‘own that kind of thing’, though.” Rhys mutters, before stumbling to his feet and walking over to the pile of clothes, where his comms are, intending to call Vaughn or Fiona or someone and ask them to bring him a change of clothes.

“Just take my sweater, you’ll look really stupid just wearing my shirt.” Jack whispers loudly at him, clearly not wanting to wake Angel up just yet.

Nodding gratefully, Rhys picks up the yellow sweater lying underneath the jacket, and starts taking off his own soggy shirt. Then he remembers that Jack is behind him, and trying to be casual about it, he drops his hands and walks over to a different pavilion to change, stoically ignoring the sniggers coming from Jack’s direction.

When he emerges again, it’s in still soggy slacks, but at least his upper half is dry and clothed in a seriously eye-watering shade of yellow. Rumor had it that before Jack, Hyperion’s official colors had been red and black, but were now yellow because Jack liked the color. Rhys wonders not for the first time if Jack’s colorblind or something, because _seriously_.

He goes back to where Jack and Angel are, walking a little uncomfortably from the wet tightness of his slacks.

Jack eyes the way he walks in with curiosity. “Everything okay in your pants, kitten?”

“Yeah…they’re a little hard to walk in when wet but it’s fine. I can call my friends and ask them to bring me a change of clothes, and return your sweater to you or something?” Rhys adjusts his pants again, wincing when they rub over his thighs too hard.

“Well, it’s your lucky day, pumpkin. I actually wore boxers today, so you can go ahead and borrow them, as long as your dick isn’t like, gross or anything.” Jack waggles his eyebrows at Rhys meaningfully.

Rhys makes a face back at him, “What, you’re going to go for dinner with Angel without wearing any underwear?”

“Oh, sweetcheeks, what did you think I wore under those sweatpants at home?” Jack’s face is gleeful, and Rhys can’t help it, he flushes at the thought, making Jack’s grin grow even wider.

“Seriously, just wear them. And what do you mean, I’m going for dinner with Angel? I’m going for dinner with Angel and you. You’re coming along too, cupcake.” Jack points at Rhys and then the pile of clothes accusatorially.

Rhys wrinkles his nose at Jack. “Wait, you want me to join you guys for dinner…wearing your sweater and your boxers? I…I’m not sure that would be appropriate, honestly.”

“Psh, pumpkin,” Jack waves a hand lazily in the air. “The first time we met, you had your hand down my pants in like, 10 minutes, and now you wanna talk about appropriate? Seriously?”

Scowling, Rhys says, “We don’t talk about that!”

Jack sniggers, then looks down at where Angel’s slowly beginning to wake up. “Just go get decent, or rather, not so decent, heh. Imma go get Angel changed.”

Giving up, but secretly kind of screaming inside at the thought of wearing Jack’s underwear, Rhys goes and picks up the ( _seriously_?!) yellow and white striped boxers. He ducks into the other pavilion to strip out of his slacks, and stands there for a while in his wet briefs, contemplating whether or not he wants to wear wet underwear or go commando beneath Jack’s boxers. It’s not much of a choice, really, hygienically speaking, but part of him is just thinking, “If I wore these would it be like, dick-touching via proximity?”

That’s when Jack’s head pops in through the curtain of the pavilion, and gives him the fright of his life.

“I didn’t give you permission to jerk off over my boxers y’know,” Jack drawls, tone casual. But his eyes linger on Rhys’ bare legs, and the briefs peeking out from under the sweater. Mortified, Rhys pulls the sweater down as far as he dares without stretching the fabric.

“Nooo, why would you do that!? I was enjoying the view,” Jack pouts, and steps fully into the pavilion, dropping the clothes in his hands to grab Rhys’ wrists and move them away from the sweater.

They stand there for an instant, so close that Rhys can feel the heat pouring off Jack’s bare chest, matched by the heat in the large, warm hands encircling his wrists.

Fortunately for Rhys’ dignity, Angel’s voice comes calling into the pavilion, and Jack relinquishes his hold on Rhys’ wrists slowly.

“Daddy? Rhys? I’m done! Can we go eat now?” Her head pops into the pavilion, and she looks at the barely existent space between them with interest.

“Yeah, don’t worry sweetheart. Give us a few minutes to get changed, alright?” Jack turns and gently scoots her out.

“Okay, but no kissing before dinner!” She snickers, and lets herself be pushed out.

“I, kissing? What?” Rhys fumbles with the boxers in his hands.

“She’s 8, well 9 now, not stupid.” Jack comments, before turning back and shucking his trunks, shamelessly keeping eye contact with Rhys as he does so.

“Oh my god,” Rhys mutters to himself, before turning and pulling Jack’s boxers up to cover his wet briefs, ignoring Jack’s laughter behind him.

“Uh-uh, kitten.”

Rhys jumps when Jack’s voice ghosts right into his ear, but Jack’s hands landing on his hips make him freeze up.

“Much as I like the visual of you in my underwear, I think I’d like it better if you weren’t wearing anything under, yunno?” Jack’s warm hands slide slowly down Rhys’ hips, thumbs hooking into the waistband of both the boxers and the wet briefs to tug them down as well.

There’s a surreal feel to the moment, standing there in Jack’s sweater with Jack’s hands inching his briefs down, and Jack himself standing naked and warm and very close behind Rhys. But when the briefs go low enough that there’s a very real possibility of his dick getting exposed, his instincts finally kick back in, and he jumps away from Jack’s hands, spinning around to face him.

He’s flushed, he can feel it in how his face and neck are burning, and he doesn’t even want to think about what he must look like to Jack right now. He desperately hopes the edge of the sweater covers the half-chub he’s got going on.

Jack, on the other hand, looks perfectly composed; the only indications that he might be in any way compromised is in how his eyes are dilated to the point where there’s barely any blue or green left, and the- Rhys tries really hard not to look at it directly, but. Yep. That’s definitely an erection there.

“Wear my boxers, kitten. And only my boxers. We’re continuing this conversation later.” Jack’s voice is rough and low, catching in all the best ways on Rhys’ heightened nerves.

Mutely, Rhys nods, hastily stripping his briefs off and pulling Jack's boxers up before fleeing from the pavilion, joining Angel where she’s poking curiously at the present Rhys left beside the pool. His own erection is thankfully subsided by the time he reaches her, and he slides into the seat next to hers with a relieved sigh.

“Are you and my daddy dating?” Angel asks, so casually that it takes Rhys a long moment to actually hear what she’s saying.

“Ha- haha why would you think that? Oh, how about I show you around your present!” Rhys reaches over to undo the wrapping, and she thankfully drops the subject to watch as Rhys explains the gift.

It’s a diary. Vaughn had been the one to find it, a small blue tablet that he helps Angel program to unlock to a scan of her eye. Then he shows her the really cool part, designed by him, naturally. There’s two levels of access to the diary’s entries, the first level unlocked by her eye-scan and a password, and the second level accessible only through a specific set of input and a 3-D puzzle that’s generated anew with every attempt to access it. He has the feeling that Jack probably wouldn’t like it if he knew what he was doing, but he’s also really sure that Angel needs her own space, something that she rarely gets under Jack’s constant supervision, both in person, and via his guards’ when he’s at work.

As expected, Angel is immediately intrigued by the thought of having something private to herself, and Rhys crosses his fingers that Jack will be satisfied with the shiny unicorn on the cover and the mildly challenging but entirely breakable barriers to the first set of entries, and not look any further.

He glances around, making sure that Jack is still doing…whatever he is in the pavilion, wow he really hopes Jack isn’t jacking (hah!) off inside there, then bends down to whisper to Angel.

“It’s not that I think you need to hide anything from your dad or whatever, it’s just, y’know. Everybody needs a place to put their thoughts down where nobody else will see, right?” He’s suddenly regretting ever getting her this present. Jack’s CEO of the company that pretty much owns the entire planet, and other planets besides. Who is Rhys, a lowly intern slash babysitter, to interfere in Jack’s parenting?

But then Angel looks up at him with a look in her eyes that belies her nine years, and says, equally quietly, and with an intensity that would have done her father proud (or, considering the topic, maybe not), “Jack won’t ever see the real present, or understand it. Thank you, Rhys.”

Rhys can only nod mutely in response to that, and they wait in comfortable silence for Jack to come back out.

\---

Dinner, once again at an empty restaurant, is a bizarre affair. Angel, now clutching her diary and a plush scythid toy courtesy of the zoo’s gift shop, solemnly presides over the table. Jack, who didn’t even bother buttoning up his white shirt or wearing his vest and jacket, sits bare-chested at her right hand, obligingly handing her various forks and knives for her to saw at the massive crab worm claw lying on the table. Sitting on Angel’s left in only a sweater and boxers, helping to hold the claw down while Angel hacks at it, Rhys wonders where his life took such a strange turn.

Eventually, Angel manages to prise open the claw to reveal the meat inside, eliciting cheers from Jack and Rhys, and they get to eating what the restaurant had assured them was a specially prepared delicacy.

Two seconds in, Jack lets the meat drop out of his mouth, face twisted in disgust. Beside him, Angel is gamely chewing on, eyes almost crossed with the effort of not following her father’s example. Looking at them both, Rhys says, “Oh thank god,” and pushes his plate as far away from him as possible.

“Daddy…can we get pizza instead?” Angel says plaintively, once she’s proven herself stronger than both Jack and Rhys, and actually swallowed the revolting thing.

“God yes, Angel sweetheart, you have the _best_ ideas, unlike the owner of this place. Believe me, this moron ain’t gonna be having any ideas anytime soon,” Jack snarls, flinging himself away from the table (and the claw), and calls for the car.

So dinner ends up actually being pizza eaten in the living room of the penthouse, with Angel and Jack competing to see who can roll up their pizza slices to put in their mouths the fastest, and Rhys watching on in horrified disgust. The view of the unfettered stars from the balcony beside the living room and the muted white noise coming from the massive screen playing the news makes the entire thing seem comfortable, familiar in a way that aches, because Rhys knows that this is an incredible and rare opportunity, to be able to watch Jack and Angel like this.

It doesn’t take long before Angel starts drooping over her scythid toy, a slice of pizza still half finished in her hand. When Rhys quietly suggests that she’d be more comfortable in her own bed, she wakes up enough to scowl at him, finish her pizza determinedly, and trail off to brush her teeth.

She soon comes back out, washed and yawning, to squeeze in under Jack’s arm and stay there, head nodding, while Rhys and Jack talk about work stuff, until she eventually slumps over to snore gently on Jack’s chest.

Rhys watches Jack watch her for a while, before averting his eyes and offering to clean up the place while Jack puts her to bed. Jack nods, gently picking her up and standing to carry her to her room.

Left alone in the living room, Rhys shuts the massive screen off with some fumbling (whoever designed the control buttons for this screen was a sadist. Rhys is about half convinced it was Jack himself), and gets to putting away the remaining pizza and wiping the table down.

When he’s done wrestling the boxes into the garbage disposal, he turns around, wondering if he should go say goodnight to Angel, only to jump when he realizes that Jack is leaning against the breakfast bar with his arms crossed, watching him.

“Hey, I didn’t realize you were there. Angel asleep?” He asks, keeping his voice low.

Jack nods, eyes still fixed on Rhys.

Not really sure what to make of Jack’s uncharacteristic silence, but putting it up to Angel being asleep and Jack not wanting to wake her up, Rhys says, “Uh, I guess I’ll get out of your hair then. Oh, may I borrow some clothes to go home in? I forgot to take my clothes out to dry before dinner so they’re still kinda wet and weird smelling.” He wrinkles his nose at the plastic bag sitting on the breakfast bar next to Jack.

A strange, almost irritated look crosses Jack’s face, but it soon disappears, and Jack nods, turning towards the door to his room and beckoning for Rhys to follow.

Rhys pads along after Jack, intrigued at the possibility of getting to see Jack’s room. Turns out, the door isn’t directly to his room, but instead leads to a short corridor that curves to the left and opens up into a bedroom. Along the corridor, there are other doors, but they’re all closed, and he looks at them with curiosity.

Jack opens one of the closed doors, revealing a large closet, and disappears into it for a while before emerging with a button-down and a pair of loose shorts, which he pushes into Rhys’ hands.

“Oh, thanks. Uh,” Rhys looks around, trying to avoid Jack’s unsettling stare. “Can you help me unlock the door to the toilet? Gotta go change somewhere, am I right, ha ha…” He trails off uncertainly.

“You could always just change here,” Jack suggests, in a tone that’s very much not a suggestion. “Why the sudden shyness, kitten?”

“No, I’m not-,” Rhys feels the beginning of a blush creep up his neck. “I’m perfectly comfortable in my own body, thanks very much.” Scowling to try and keep the blush at bay, he turns around and strips the sweater off, leaving him standing in only Jack’s boxers, and pulls on the shirt Jack gave him. He doesn’t have time to start buttoning it up before he’s startled into stillness by the feeling of Jack pressing up behind him.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Jack’s murmur comes right in his ear, prompting a flood of adrenaline through Rhys, and a feeling of déjà vu as Jack’s hands once again land on his hips. Praying futilely that Jack doesn’t notice how his dick is hardening a short distance away from his hands, Rhys swallows.

“Uh…” Rhys’ mind stutters to a halt when, instead of sliding his own boxers down, Jack instead begins to stroke the skin at Rhys’ hips, fingers alternating between firm presses, and feather-light touches, almost ticklish.

“God, you’re so damned oblivious sometimes,” Jack hisses, the anger in his voice at odds with the way his hands tug Rhys back against him, pushing the borrowed shirt aside to explore the bare skin of Rhys’ chest.

“I- I’m sorry?” Rhys barely has the presence of mind to say, as Jack’s fingers flick carelessly over his nipples before sliding back down to press at Rhys’ stomach, which is unfortunately not as firm or muscled as he’d like it to be, despite what he’d said to Jack earlier.

“Yeah, you should be. Seriously, how many friggin’ hints do I have to drop? It’s like trying to flirt with a rock, ugh.” Jack turns Rhys around and grabs his jaw. “Look, you’re hot, and I’ve wanted to put my dick in you since you came onto me at the bar. Okay, maybe not when you were throwing up all over my house-,” Rhys scowls because it had been nowhere near _all over the house_ , excuse you, Jack.

“Stop pouting. It’s cute, don’t get me wrong, but I have a point to make, and you’re distracting me.” Jack tightens his grip on Rhys’ jaw, and Rhys’ lips part at the pressure, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. He feels a heady rush of exhilaration when Jack’s gaze flicks down and his eyes darken.

“As I was saying. You. Me. Doing fun adult things of a sexual nature in a variety of positions and places. Come _on_ , time’s a wastin'.” Jack leans in close, his face almost touching Rhys’, eyes flickering back and forth over Rhys’ face.

In lieu of a response, Rhys closes the gap between them, and presses his mouth against Jack’s.

“Oh thank Christ, _finally_ ,” Jack snarls against his mouth before kissing Rhys in earnest, pushing Rhys against the wall of the corridor. The clothes in Rhys’ hand get dropped, unheeded, to the floor.

Rhys goes willingly, pulling Jack to him and curling his robotic hand carefully around Jack’s neck. His flesh hand goes to grab at Jack’s butt, because he has his priorities right, and it turns out to be a great decision, because it makes Jack pause from where he’s trying to kiss Rhys while undoing his belt one-handed to groan and thrust against him.

Grinning against Jack’s mouth, Rhys grabs at Jack’s butt again, relishing the puff of laughter that comes out of Jack.

“I get your fascination with my butt, I really do, kitten. But if you could maybe move your hands to more _productive_ ends,” Jack punctuates this by finally getting his belt off, throwing it behind him carelessly before coming back to kiss Rhys again, licking into his mouth eagerly.

Reluctantly relinquishing his hold on Jack’s butt, Rhys starts tugging Jack’s shirt off, with Jack’s “help”, which isn’t much considering Jack has rediscovered his favorite spot on Rhys’ neck, and is sucking a new hickey onto it with great gusto. It takes a bit of wrestling and a lot of trying not to collapse because god, Jack’s mouth is hot and wet and biting in all the best ways, but he eventually manages to get Jack’s ridiculously long shirt off and onto the floor.

They break apart, panting. Rhys feels like he must look completely ridiculous now, Jack’s shirt unbuttoned and hanging half off his shoulders, still in Jack’s stupid stripey yellow boxers, and he knows his hair is a mess without even having to touch it. His only consolation is that Jack looks equally undone, hair mussed, flush coming from behind the edges of his mask to spread down his chest, erection straining at his half-unbuttoned pants, and eyes dilated as he looks Rhys up and down.

“Oh, _kitten_. The things I’m gonna do to you,” Jack trails off, reaching forward to tug Rhys to him. This time, when their mouths touch, it’s shockingly gentle, more like a brush of lips than a kiss. Rhys doesn’t even get a change to adjust before Jack suddenly bites his lower lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, and pulls away again with a satisfied expression, eyes fixed on Rhys’ throbbing lower lip.

The fucked up thing, what Rhys doesn’t want to voice, is that the sharp hurt feels good, in a way that he suspects it really shouldn’t.

But he can’t repress the shudder that goes through him, the tremor of _want_ , and he thinks that Jack sees it too, going by the way he grins, vicious and anticipatory.

“Something you wanna say to me?” He asks, and Rhys has to close his eyes against the surprised delight curling in Jack’s voice. Shaking his head, he tries to grab at Jack, to pull him close again, but is foiled by Jack’s hands coming up to rest, warm and heavy with the promise of threat, at the base of his neck.

“C’mon, Rhysie, don’t make me ask you twice,” Jack’s voice is coaxing, and his thumbs stroke slowly up and down along Rhys’ neck, one of them pressing into the already aching hickey laid at its base. Rhys swallows, and feels the way his Adam’s apple moves against Jack’s hands.

When he opens his eyes, Jack’s staring at him expectantly.

“Please…” Rhys exhales, “I can’t- I’ve never…” Unable to voice the rest of it, he reaches up and curls his fingers around Jack’s wrist, over the tattoo there, tugging it away from his neck. To his mild surprise, Jack lets him, eyes still fixed on Rhys’.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, unable to believe he’s actually doing this, Rhys pulls Jack’s hand up to his face, and slips the first two fingers into his mouth. When he licks along the surprisingly rough pads of Jack’s fingers, he can taste traces of the pizza from earlier. Jack’s fingers are calloused and heavy on his tongue, and he has to stifle a moan at the feeling.

There’s no response from Jack though. Worried and embarrassed, Rhys opens his eyes again, only to see Jack’s gaze fixed hungrily on his fingers in Rhys’ mouth, eyes so dilated they’re nearly all black. Embarrassed, Rhys lets go of Jack’s wrist. That’s when Jack looks up, and the look in his eyes makes Rhys flush all over again.

“Oh, you have _no_ idea…” Jack surges forward, fingers still in Rhys’ mouth, pressing it open, and licks at him, around the fingers. His other hand moves to press Rhys against the corridor wall with one palm against Rhys’ chest. He finally pulls his fingers out of Rhys’ mouth to pop them into his own, grinning when Rhys exhales sharply at the sight.

“You and me? We’re going to have _so_ much fun. Oh man, have I got plans for us,” he winks at Rhys before dropping to his knees and sliding Rhys’ boxers, well, technically his own boxers, down his hips, tugging Rhys’ feet up one at a time to get them off.

“Oh my god,” Rhys stutters, unable to believe that this is real. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s pretty sure his imagination wouldn’t be able to provide such a level of detail, like the curve of Jack’s lips as he pulls Rhys’ dick out, or the way his large hands curl around it, he would swear he’s dreaming or having the best hallucination ever.

As it is though, there’s really no way any dream of his could’ve matched up to this, to Jack kneeling in front of him and mouthing along the shaft of his cock, glancing up every once in a while as if to make sure that Rhys’ attention is fully on him.

When Rhys hesitantly raises his flesh hand to touch the side of Jack’s face, Jack reaches up and takes it, tugging it so that it rests in his hair. Smirking up at Rhys, he says, “Pull too hard, and I’ll bite. And not in a way that you’ll like, either,” and sucks Rhys down, keeping eye contact the entire time.

Rhys desperately tries not to come immediately, but it’s so hard, both the attempts and his dick, and he has to bite down onto his flesh hand. “Oh god, oh god, ohh my god,” he’s almost chanting, he’s trying so hard not to come just yet. Jack pops off to grin wickedly up at him before going back to sucking, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing up and down in a motion that’s invoking all sorts of interesting sensations through Rhys’ body.

“Jack, I’m gonna- Please, I don’t want to come yet!” Rhys cries out, clutching desperately at Jack’s shoulders. Jack’s only response is to irritably bat Rhys’ hands away before grabbing at his hips, hard enough that Rhys feels the individual points of his fingers, and knows that there’s going to be bruises there tomorrow. It’s a toss up as to which of those things makes him come, Jack’s irritation while having a dick in his mouth, or the knowledge that there will be marks in the shape of Jack’s hands, a reminder. But come he does, groaning heavily and slumping against the wall, gasping shakily for breath.

Jack, to Rhys’ surprise, actually swallows before he pulls off with an obscene pop, bringing one hand up to wipe at his mouth before standing back up and kissing Rhys hard, pressing against him with an urgency that belies his casual attitude earlier.

“C’mon, legs up- bed,” Jack pants against Rhys, hands grabbing at Rhys’ butt and going lower, tugging his thighs up until with a small heave from Jack, Rhys is being carried. At this validation of his suspicion that Jack could fuck him against a wall, Rhys’ dick twitches with interest, kind of valiantly, considering he just came really hard, but he appreciates the effort.

Jack walks the two of them into his bedroom, his hands under Rhys’ butt gripping tight. Rhys makes up for Jack’s hands being busy by burying his own in Jack’s hair, kissing him with open-mouthed fervor. There’s something intoxicating about the way Jack’s tongue slides against his, the way the clasps of his mask press against Rhys’ face, and Rhys wants _more_.

When they reach the bed, Jack dumps him unceremoniously onto it, provoking an indignant squawk from Rhys before he’s distracted by Jack shucking his pants and crawling over him. They lie there for a while, Jack slowly thrusting against Rhys while he gets back to the hickey on Rhys’ neck. Rhys curls one leg around Jack’s thigh, pulling him in close and enjoying the feel of Jack’s weight on him.

“Crap!” Abruptly, Jack flings himself off the bed and stalks off towards the exit.

Confused, Rhys pushes himself up to stare after Jack, but he’s quick to return, this time carrying a tube of lube and a packet of condoms.

“Sorry, kitten. Forgot to lock and soundproof the doors behind us. Don’t want to wake Angel up with your screaming.” Smirking, Jack tosses the lube and condoms onto the bed beside Rhys, and bounces onto the bed after them.

“Picked these up on the way back. Wanna show me some of that initiative of yours and get to work?” Jack reclines back on the bed beside Rhys, arms folded behind his head. His casual posture is so ludicrously at odds with the erection sticking up that Rhys snorts, laughing.

“What, see something funny, pumpkin?” Jack scowls, but the side of his mouth is tugging up in amusement, and unable to help himself, Rhys bends forwards to kiss it, smiling giddily at the thought that he can do this, taste the edges of Jack’s lips and lick into them, searching for the barely perceptible line where the mask transitions into the soft hot skin inside Jack’s mouth.

He feels Jack’s mouth beneath his turn up in a full-fledged grin, and Jack’s hands come up to run along his sides, petting them, almost, before tugging him so that Rhys is straddling Jack’s hips, feeling Jack’s erection press up against his butt. His own dick seems to be slowly coming round to hardness again, and he thrusts shallowly against Jack’s stomach as they idly make out.

Finally, pulling away with one last lick at Jack’s mouth, Rhys takes his shirt off completely and tosses it behind him, flushed and pleased when Jack’s eyes trace down his naked body appreciatively. When they come up again, they catch on the hickey at the junction of Rhys’ neck and shoulder, and Jack beckons Rhys down with hunger in his eyes.

Rhys lets out a put-on sigh, but bends down over Jack, placing his hands on either side of Jack’s head. He’s expecting yet another sequel to the previous installments of “let’s see how massive I can make this hickey on your neck ha ha”, but to his surprise, Jack doesn’t go back to biting at his neck. Instead, he touches it with one finger contemplatively, glancing up to meet Rhys’ gaze before going back to staring at it.

Rhys waits, somewhat confused, but Jack seems content with touching the hickey and staring, even though his erection is still pressing insistently up against Rhys.

“Um…Jack?” He asks eventually, when Jack still hasn’t moved in a while.

“Hm, kitten?” Jack looks back up. “Oh. Aw, are you feeling left out? C’mere,” he tugs Rhys towards him and gives him a smacking kiss before shoving him back up so he can sit up as well. He then reaches for the lube, and holds it up between their faces.

“You wanna do the honors, or shall I do it? I promise not to be gentle if you ask nicely and are a _very_ good boy,” Jack says, waggling his eyebrows gleefully at Rhys.

“You promised to be gentle at the pool, and then right after that, you tossed me into the water,” Rhys points out, but he takes the tube of lube anyway, pushing Jack to lie back down. He squeezes it out onto his flesh hand, careful not to get any on his mechanical one, and pauses.

“Wait, what do you- Uh, should I get off of you first or-,” Rhys looks down at the lube in his hand in consternation. He hasn’t really tried preparing himself while straddling someone else before, for obvious reasons, but it might be weird to get off Jack just to prepare himself, and then get back on because he _thinks_ Jack wants him to be on top but how even do you ask that? Man, this is more complicated than he’d expected.

“Huh? Wait, pumpkin, have you never done this before?” Jack blinks up at him, one hand going to catch Rhys’ hand as it tilts and threatens to drip lube onto Jack’s chest.

“Um. Sort of? By myself, but I’m usually on my back because it’s easier…” Rhys moves to get off, but is stopped by Jack’s hands on his waist.

“Well, that explains your popping off like a moonshot. And here I was, thinking my blowjob skills were just that great. Actually, nah I’m pretty sure I am just that great.” Jack grins at Rhys and thrusts his tongue into his cheek obscenely.

Rhys rolls his eyes at that, and jumps when Jack smacks the side of his butt.

“Don’t sass me, kitten. Here c’mon, gimme some of that.” Jack wipes his left hand along Rhys’, scooping up the lube.

Rhys watches as Jack reaches down, but still finds himself jerking in surprise when Jack slides two slippery fingers between his legs to press against his hole. Shuddering, he leans forward, burying his face in the crook of Jack’s neck. Jack’s other hand comes up to stroke along his spine, comforting and authoritative in equal measures.

The probing fingers rub at his hole in a rhythmic tease for a while, not quite slipping in, and Rhys growls into the skin of Jack’s neck impatiently when it looks like Jack isn't planning to do anything about it anytime soon.

“Come _on_ , Jack, get on with it already,” he whines, pushing back against Jack’s hand.

This close, he can feel Jack’s laughter rumble through his chest. “The last time you were this eager, you were drunker than a skag in a barrel. Should I be flattered, pumpkin?”

Sitting up to glare at Jack, Rhys reaches down with his still-lubey hand, pushing Jack’s fingers away to slide one into himself without preamble, bending a little awkwardly to be able to reach and wincing past the intrusive feeling.

“Nooooo c’mon, I was having fun!” Jack grabs his wrist and tugs it away and up behind Rhys’ back, holding it there with easy strength, ignoring Rhys’ pout.

Rhys can’t even be mad at the interruption though, because Jack’s other hand goes back to touching him, _finally_ slipping one finger into Rhys and stroking at the skin there.

“Someday I wanna tie you to my bed with your stupid clip-on ties, and watch you go nuts as I take my time opening you up,” Jack says conversationally, watching Rhys’ no doubt horribly flushed face with interest. “How do you feel about that, huh kitten?”

Jack’s tone is so casual that it takes a while for the words’ meaning to hit Rhys, but when it does, he can’t stop himself from thrusting forward, arching against the pressure of his arm held behind his back.

“I- Oh my god,” Rhys pants raggedly, clenching and unclenching his robotic hand in the bedsheets.

Jack snickers at his reaction, taking the opportunity to slide a second finger in and stroking it in and out with the first. His hand around Rhys’ left wrist tightens, giving Rhys something to pull on as he writhes, trapped between Jack’s hands, and loving it.

“Your reaction is duly noted, kiddo. Man, this is fun! Why the hell haven’t we been doing this from the start? Your fault. Hmmm, I wonder what else you’d like. Spanking? One of my old girlfriends was really into that, too bad neither of us liked getting spanked all that much. I bet you’d like it though, bet you’d cry real prettily and ask for more, until you won’t be able to sit down for a week, wouldn’t you, kitten?” Jack’s voice is as casual as ever, and his fingers work steadily at making Rhys come undone, but his erection presses up insistently at Rhys’ back, and the flush around the edges of his mask has spread halfway down his chest.

Whimpering at the mental images Jack’s words conjure, Rhys nods helplessly, rutting forward to press his now very definitely hard dick against Jack’s stomach and backward into Jack’s fingers.

He gasps when a third finger is added, trembling at the feeling of being so stretched, but Jack just continues, “What if I don’t let you come though, unless you were a _very_ good boy. What if I leave you hanging there, use you whenever I want, but you aren’t allowed to come until I think you’ve deserved it, and if you do, I won’t touch you for a week?”

When Rhys doesn’t respond, too dazed and delirious by the plethora of sensations and images, Jack pulls his fingers out, ignoring Rhys’ whines as he attempts to thrust back down onto them.

“What’s that, kitten?” Jack’s slippery hand goes to slide against Rhys’ cock and balls, which is great but really _not_ what he wants right now, not what he needs to salve the empty, hollow feeling in him.

“Haah, I- Jack please,” Rhys groans.

“C’mon, use your words, I know you can do it,” Jack’s voice is low and coaxing.

“I won’t- I’ll be good, please-,” Rhys’ breaths come out so ragged they almost sound like sobs. “I won’t come until you want me to, I’ll be good just- please just touch me-!”

He actually does sob when Jack relents and slides his fingers back in, and that seems enough to spur Jack on, because his movements are no longer so controlled, so casual.

It doesn’t take long before Jack’s got a condom on and then he’s tugging Rhys down onto him, and Rhys shakes, feeling more full than he’s ever been.

“Ha- hold on,” he gasps, clutching at Jack and the bed with his flesh and robotic hand respectively.

Jack pauses and lifts his hands from Rhys’ hips, going instead to stroke down his back comfortingly.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay babe, I got you, come on now,” Jack’s voice is rough, but his hands are firm, and Rhys shudders and moves his hands to Jack’s shoulders, slowly relaxing and easing himself down until he’s completely seated on Jack who groans through gritted teeth, long and low, but continues to rub at Rhys’ back and sides.

Nodding to himself, Rhys takes a deep breath, tells himself he can totally do this, and lifts himself up and slides back down, moaning brokenly at the sensation.

Beneath him, Jack’s lips are parted, and his gaze flickers across Rhys’ face and body.

Once he’s done it the first time, it gets easier, the aching stretch easing off into a slow, throbbing pleasure. He begins to ride Jack, slowly at first, then picking up his pace, relishing the feel of Jack clutching at his hips, where bruises from the blowjob earlier are already beginning to form.

The pinpricks of pain only serve to heighten the pleasure, and Rhys throws his head back, gasping.

“Yes, kitten, c’mon, god you’re gorgeous,” Jack sits back up to mouth at Rhys’ chest, peppering it with fierce kisses and tiny nips, his hands never ceasing their petting at Rhys.

Rhys didn’t think he had any blood left to spare, but somehow he feels himself flushing at the praise and thrusting down harder, pushing past the trembling in his thighs, eager for more.

And with the same uncanny intuition that he’s demonstrated so far (when it comes to sex anyway), Jack murmurs into Rhys’ shoulder, “Thaaat’s it, good boy, I’ve got you, you’re doing so good, kitten,” punctuating it with a sharp exhalation when Rhys rolls his hips.

“Ah, Jack, mmfph-,” Rhys feels half-drunk. He’d say boneless, but it’s not really true, because he’s somehow still moving, hands on Jack’s shoulders anchoring him while everything else feels like a blur. He’s so close again, getting closer with every time he raises his hips and drops them back down, erection bouncing between their bodies, and with every filthy word coming out of Jack’s mouth.

Part of Rhys is really thankful he hasn’t come again yet, because after the ridiculous record time he’d set with the blowjob earlier, he really doesn’t want to embarrass himself again, but he has the feeling he’s not going to last very long this time either.

That feeling is proved horribly right when Jack brings his hand, covered in fresh lube- when the hell had he done that?- to stroke at Rhys’ dick.

“C’mon, come for me, I wanna feel you around me when you come,” Jack’s whispers are harsh in his ear, almost a snarl.

Crying out, Rhys thrusts forwards helplessly, torn between moving forward into the slippery grip around his dick, and the full, aching pressure in his ass. He doesn’t manage more than a handful of thrusts before he’s coming all over their stomachs, shuddering and gasping Jack’s name like a prayer.

His entire body is trembling, and he doesn’t think he can stay upright, but Jack lets go of his dick to wrap his arms around Rhys, snarling and holding him in place as he thrusts up into him. He turns them until he’s on top, and grabs Rhys’ thighs, holding them apart as he drives into Rhys relentlessly, sending sparks flickering through Rhys’ wrung-out body and eliciting whimpers from him.

Clutching at Jack’s shoulders, Rhys clings on and tries to survive the ride, encouraging Jack on with open-mouthed kisses against any part of Jack he can reach, the side of his face, his neck, his shoulder.

When Rhys lifts his head to lick directly at Jack’s mouth, Jack groans and his pace stutters as he comes, grinding hard against Rhys’ ass.

“God, _Rhys_ , kitten, babe, you are a _delight_.” Jack rolls off of Rhys to collapse beside him, panting unevenly. He pulls the used condom off and tosses it haphazardly off the bed, provoking a grimace from Rhys.

“You’re not too shabby yourself,” Rhys quips, still dazed from his orgasm, but not so much that he isn’t thoroughly enjoying the sight of Jack all sweaty and undone.

“Hah, funny. I am _excellent_ ,” Jack doesn’t even bother opening his eyes to flap his hand in Rhys’ general direction, but he does grin smugly when his hand manages to smack Rhys in the chest, making Rhys yelp.

Scowling, Rhys takes Jack’s hand and tries to use it to make Jack smack himself, but that only makes Jack squint open one eye and frown at him before grabbing him and moving him around so his back is to Jack’s chest and his hands are held tight to his own chest.

“Stop. Moving. Jeez,” Jack grunts into the back of Rhys’ neck before nipping him there. Rhys jumps at the unexpected bite, but it’s soon followed up with a comforting lick and a heavy leg coming up to pin his legs down.

Weighted down by Jack’s arms and leg, and feeling the bone deep aching satisfaction of having come twice, and really hard, Rhys curls against the warmth at his back, and falls asleep.

\---

An indeterminate amount of time later, he’s elbowed out of a strange dream of having sex in a swimming pool.

Confused and still half-asleep, Rhys stumbles out of bed. The sight of a deeply snoring Jack, who’s shifted around so that he’s now starfishing across the bed (which would explain the throb in his side), sends Rhys straight into wakefulness.

“Crap!” He mouths, panicking. Shit, had he just seriously slept with his boss? His twice-over boss?

As he stumbles around the room in his panic, the lights, which had apparently slowly dimmed themselves off after he and Jack had fallen asleep, slowly begin to brighten again.

“Oh no, oh nooo, lights off! Off!” Rhys hisses at them, waving his hands frantically in the air. Damn Jack and his stupidly fancy house with its stupidly fancy tech and stupidly fancy lights which were, yep, just continuing to brighten.

Almost hyperventilating in his panic, Rhys whirls around before picking up the boxers discarded callously on the floor from earlier, pulling them on as he hops towards the corridor and out of Jack’s rooms, praying that the lights will dim when he leaves.

At the door to the living room, he pauses for a while, stymied by the smooth impervious and definitely lock-less doorknob on it before remembering that Jack had locked and soundproofed it last night, somehow. Probably with the same weird tech that's on the front door. Frustrated, he jiggles the doorknob as hard as he can, but it refuses to turn.

“Come on, you piece of crapsack tech!” He whispers frantically at it, and to his amazement, it actually unlocks. Huh.

Not questioning his stroke of good luck, Rhys flees out into the living room, grabs his comm, and trips his way to the front door, where he thankfully knows the unlock and lock codes from Jack being too lazy to see him out every week, and he bolts out, hastily locking the door behind him and running towards the elevators.

Somehow, he manages to make his way home without incident, and the time of the night means that Vaughn isn’t awake to see him creep into their flat in a stranger’s boxers.

He goes to take a long, hot, and thoroughly deserved shower, and sinks to the floor as the water spatters down on him.

“Oh, _fuck_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps: lmk if i got the tags for the sex stuff wrong!
> 
> pps: i made a tumblr come say hi :D ssealdog.tumblr.com (i can't figure out how to hyperlink OTL)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) oh my god friends I am so sorry this took _forever_ OTL school was kicking my butt for the past few weeks and I couldn't really get time to write ;o; but here's chapter 4!! and on that note,
> 
> 2) this is only the first half of what was originally planned to be chapter 3 and became chapter 4 after chapter "2" ended up being chapters 2 + 3, because I keep underestimating how much fits into a chapter and alsdnfhjl I'm so sorry @ those of u who were expecting this to finish with this chapter!!!! i hit about 10k words and was like ok maaaybe i should split it, so there's gonna be one more chapter sorry s: the good news is, it def shouldn't take as long this chapter did!! for one, i'm already about a third of the way into it \o/
> 
> thank you so much for reading, guys ;u; i hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!! OTL
> 
> btw!! there's violence and stuff in this chapter, pretty canon-typical and mostly off screen but just in case!

The next morning, Rhys seriously contemplates calling in sick. Maybe he could borrow Sasha’s skag juice recipe and replicate it or something. What are a couple days of throwing everything up and feeling like you’re about to die, compared to going to work knowing you slept with the boss, right? He’s already got the wanting to die bit down already, anyway, augh.

Groaning, he rolls over and stuffs his head under his pillow, questioning every single one of his life choices.

Unbidden, the memory of Jack’s wicked expression as he sinks to his knees in front of Rhys rises up in his mind. Flinging himself out of bed with a strangled wheeze, he fumbles for his comm to call Sasha.

“Bro…what even?” Vaughn’s voice from the doorway makes him freeze from where he’s digging through the pile of clothes from last night.

Rhys turns around slowly to see Vaughn, already dressed for work with a half-eaten sandwich in hand, giving him a dry look.

“C’mon man, we’re gonna be late for work if we don’t leave soon. What time did you get back anyway? I didn’t think Angel’s birthday celebrations would end so late. Isn’t she what, 9?” Vaughn takes another bite of his sandwich as he speaks, talking at Rhys with his mouth full of food.

Grimacing, Rhys gets up, hands raised to push Vaughn out of his room. “Bro, I love you, but if you spill your weird half chewed bologna on my floor _one more time_ …”

Vaughn snorts. “I’ve seen you dip hot dogs into chocolate milk, bro, you don’t get to judge my bologna.” He backpedals to avoid Rhys’ reaching hands, and a piece of bologna falls out of his sandwich.

Rhys watches, horrified, as the piece of meat plops onto the floor almost in slow motion, and when he finally looks up, Vaughn has already escaped to the dining room and is watching with absolutely zero apology in his eyes.

Rhys bends down to pick up the bologna, and holds it up threateningly. When Vaughn sees it, his eyes widen and he holds up his sandwich in defense.

“Okay, truce, Rhys! Truce! I’m wearing my work clothes already, c’mon!”

Relenting, Rhys brings his hand back down, and walks over to the kitchen to throw the meat away.

“Seriously though, bro. You gotta go shower and stuff, I don’t wanna be late.” Vaughn’s words are once again muffled by the food in his mouth as he starts chewing, and Rhys grimaces at him.

“Dude, gross. Chew your food, bro. Anyway, I…I don’t feel up to going for work today, bro,” he mutters. “Might call in sick or something.”

Vaughn frowns at him. “You ok? I know Vasquez is a dick, but you know you don’t actually have to do all the work he gives you right? He’s just a junior manager, Quinn is the one you actually have to answer to, not Vasquez.” His frown gets bigger. “I don’t even know why Vasquez is giving you so much shit though, it’s not even like he’s in school anymore. Neither are we, for that matter. Well, for this sem anyway.”

Rhys goes over to slump in the seat beside Vaughn. “I dunno man, dude has a grudge against me or something, I swear. But nah, it's not Vasquez, I'm just really tired.” He rolls his head back against the edge of the chair back, stretching a bit. The thing that totally didn’t happen last night has left him with all sorts of aches and bruises in interesting places, and stretching kind of feels good, if a little bit too good, but he tries not to think about that.

“Uh…Rhys?”

“Hm?” Rhys turns to see Vaughn staring at his neck in horrified fascination. Crap! His hands fly up to cover his neck, but it’s too late.

“Mind telling me why there’s a massive hickey on your neck, bro?” A grin breaks out on Vaughn’s face. “Did you hook up with somebody? _Nice_. Wait, I thought you went to pass Angel her present after work yesterday? How did you-,” the grin dissolves into confusion, and then dawning realization.

“ _Bro_ ,” Vaughn’s voice is hushed, in awe or horror, Rhys can’t really tell. Quite possibly both.

Rhys thunks his head down onto the table, and groans.

“Oh my god okay but, isn’t this a good thing? You lost your v-card to the dude you’ve been crushing on since like, before we met, even! Wait, you did lose your v-card right? Why d’you look like you’re about to eat August’s cooking? Did you throw up on him...again?”

Rhys winces. “No! There was no throwing up, okay. It's just- he’s our _boss_ , Vaughn! That’s gotta be weird, right? What if I get fired? What if he doesn’t want me to tutor Angel anymore? Also I uh, may have panicked and ran out while he was sleeping, I don’t even know why.” Profoundly regretting ever getting born, Rhys rolls his face against the table, and goes back to groaning in despair.

Vaughn’s hand comes up to pat at his head consolingly. “Is that why you don’t wanna go to work today?” At Rhys’ nod, he continues, “Okay, but it’s not like Jack is gonna go down to the 8th floor and ask why you left, right? I mean- He’s Handsome Jack! If anything he’ll call you up and- okay sorry, not helping bro.”

Rhys whines miserably into the table.

“And if you don’t go you’ll probably definitely get into trouble with Vasquez. Ass that he is, he’ll probably find some excuse and rat you out to Quinn. C’mon bro, we’re like halfway through with the internship already,” Vaughn wheedles, pulling Rhys up and dragging him into his room. “You just gotta stick it out a bit longer, and then we’ll have Hyperion on our resumes and we’re home free! Sort of. You know what I mean. Come onnnn, Rhys! Pull it together! Internships before relationships!”

Grumbling, but unable to deny Vaughn’s point, Rhys lets himself get pushed to get ready for work.

Vaughn has a point. It’s not like Jack would come down from the 44th floor just to demand an explanation, right? And honestly, Quinn is right up there with Jack when it comes to terrifying, and Rhys needs the boost this internship will give his resume if he’s ever gonna ascend the corporate ranks like he’s spent all his life planning to do.

Sighing, he trudges into the bathroom to shower and change, pointedly ignoring Vaughn's cheesy thumbs-up.

\---

Rhys spends the entire commute to work both jittery and spaced out at the same time, unable to focus on anything, and jumping at every small sound. When Vaughn leaves him on the 5th floor for the accounting department, he gives Rhys a lot of worried looks, and a bracing fist-bump that probably left both of them wanting.

Stepping into the small cubicle he’s been given for work is both a blessing and a curse, because while it’s thankfully quiet and cool after the horror of the morning commute, it also has a _great_ view of the massive Handsome Jack motivational poster that hangs in middle of the office. That had been a great plus when he’d started his internship, but today it just makes him flush and try to adjust his seat so that he doesn’t see Jack’s smirking face every time he looks up.

Sighing, Rhys runs a hand through his hair and switches his screen on, trying not to think of how Jack’s probably already in the same building, knowing his erratic sleeping habits. The rational part of him points out that Jack’s the leader of a massive multi-planetary company and probably won’t have the time or inclination to come by just to talk to a lowly intern, and he clings to that reassurance with fervor.

Distracting himself with the humdrum of daily work helps, especially when Vasquez drops by with his usual smarmy smirk and casually offloads not one, not two, but three new projects onto Rhys. At Rhys’ scowl, his smirk just gets bigger, and he leans forward to pat Rhys _really inappropriately_ on the cheek.

“Cheer up Rhys, I’m just helping you prepare for life at Hyperion! Or should I say, _real_ life at Hyperion, since you haven’t really been hired now, have you?” Vasquez mock-pouts, and Rhys has literally never wanted anything more than he wants to strangle the stupid pout off of Vasquez’s face with his equally stupid Hyperion-issue tie right now.

“Aw, don’t give me that face, or I’ll find some more projects for you, and trust me, I’ll have fun finding them. I expect these to be submitted and on my desk by next Monday, kay? See you around, Rhys!” With a dismissive wave and an obnoxious snigger, Vasquez gets up from where he’s perched himself on the edge of Rhys’ table, casually and deliberately knocking over the pile of files. He covers his mouth in mock surprise before smirking and sauntering off, stupid strut magnified times ten.

Rhys mimes strangling Vasquez when Vasquez’s back is turned, but it doesn’t really soothe the hatred he’s feeling, so he gives up and goes to pick up the files, cursing Vasquez’s entire family line under his breath.

\---

Come lunch time, Rhys is _definitely_ not worrying about Jack anymore, because the projects Vasquez had given him are taking up all his mental capacity. Seriously, there has to be some law or something against giving an intern three projects that should have at least three weeks dedicated to them each, and making them all due in less than a week.

Still, Rhys prides himself on being good at his work, so by the time Vaughn calls him up for lunch, he’s already got a schedule and outline worked out for each of the projects Vasquez has given him, and is underway on the first one. Unfortunately, the schedule makes it pretty clear that if he wants to keep on track, leaving the office for lunch is going to be a no-go.

Vaughn sounds incredibly dubious when Rhys begs off lunch, but offers to come by and drop a sandwich off for Rhys, because he is the best bro. When he comes by with a sandwich and _holy hot coffee_ , Rhys almost kisses him right there and then. Actually, scratch that, he totally does, giving Vaughn a giant smacking kiss on the forehead before grabbing the coffee (from the nice café next door too, not the shitty stuff in the 8th floor lounge. Seriously, best bro ever.) and chugging half of it down.

“Whoa, dude. Vasquez has you working on recoding the neural network for the old credits-transfer system’s interface? Why?” Vaughn frowns from where he’s poking through the files on Rhys’ desk.

Rhys looks up from his cup of sweet, sweet, caffeine (literally, it’s like half sugar because Vaughn may judge his sweet tooth but at least he indulges it) and nods, waving a hand at his screen to page through the schedule he’s set up for himself.

“Yep. And exporting the digistructing code into something readable by the Hyperion library database that nobody ever uses, _and_ fixing that massive bug in the facial-recognition code for that- you remember when half of engineering couldn’t get into their labs and had to climb in through the windows?”

Vaughn grimaces and nods, peering at the slowly scrolling and depressingly full schedule on the screen in consternation.

“Right? Turns out, there was a problem in the facial-recognition code. They’ve switched to a different system, but now Vasquez wants me to debug the old one, for some reason. I swear, these projects are the most useless and tedious ones he’s given me so far, and that’s saying a lot, considering the shit he’s pulled before.” Rhys sighs, and flicks the screen back to the first project.

“Bro, that sucks man. I don’t get Vasquez’s grudge against you, dude clearly needs to revaluate his life choices, but you have my sympathies.” Vaughn claps a sympathetic hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “When are they due?”

“Next Monday.”

“What!?”

“Yeah, bro. I think I might actually go home later than you this week,” Rhys smiles weakly up at Vaughn, who frowns at the files and the screen before giving Rhys a concerned look.

“You should take this up to Quinn or something, bro. Seriously. He’s like the lesser of two evils right now. Or maybe you could bring it up to Jack? Which, speaking of-.”

“Nope! Let’s not talk about that.” Rhys prods Vaughn in the shoulder. “Okay, thanks for lunch bro, but I should probably get back to work. Message me when you’re leaving? I’ll see if I can go back with you or something.”

“Yeah alright. Good luck, bro. Don't die from overwork, rent is due in two weeks,” Vaughn says jokingly before he gets up and returns the punch gently before making his way back to the elevator, leaving Rhys to slump in his seat and stare at his screen in despair, all by his lonesome self.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s completely immersed in trying to decipher the code for the old credits-transfer system, and mentally cursing at whichever idiot thought it would be okay to skip out on the documentation. When he reaches a point in the code where it’s literally just a hundred lines of redundant renaming of variables, he gives in to the temptation and buries his head in his hands.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, scrubbing at his hair with both hands.

“Uh uh. Language, kiddo,” Jack’s voice in his ear comes out of nowhere, and Rhys jerks up, shocked, only to get his hair caught in the grooves of his robotic hand.

“ _Ow_ ,” he yelps, frantically trying to undo where a chunk of hair is stuck between his middle and ring finger joints.

When he finally gets the hair out and looks around, he sees Jack doubled over behind him, whooping and slapping at his thighs.

“What are you-,” he begins, but cuts himself off, irritated, when Jack straightens, wiping at his eyes.

“Oh, Rhys, you crack me up.” Jack sniffs dramatically.

“Um, why are you here, Jack? Uh, sir?” Rhys asks, desperately thankful for the fact that it’s still lunchtime and nobody else is in the office.

“Looking for you, dummy! Duh.” Jack moves to sit at Rhys’ desk in front of Rhys, carelessly shoving the files off the table as he does. Somehow it’s less annoying when Jack does it than when Vasquez did it, but Rhys puts it up to Vasquez just naturally being the most obnoxious person alive.

“Y’see, I thought we had fun last night, you and me.” Jack picks up one of the papers on the desk and starts playing with it idly, folding it into some kind of bird without looking at Rhys. “I mean, I enjoyed myself, you enjoyed yourself. Twice, if I remember correctly. Just kidding, I _definitely_ remember you coming twice, and very loudly both times. Mm, fun times.”

Rhys winces, flushing, but when he opens his mouth to say something, anything, Jack reaches forward with the finished paper bird and uses it to peck Rhys’ mouth shut. “I’m still talking, pumpkin. Where was I? Right, so! We had fun. Now, imagine my surprise when I wake up the next morning, expecting to have a leggy brunette in my bed - I’m talking about you, by the way - and for the fun to continue, only to find my bed cold and empty.” He places the crane down on the desk, and picks up a pencil, twiddling with it, still not making eye contact with Rhys.

“Look, I’m sor-,” Rhys tries again, and this time, Jack finally looks up, snapping the pencil into two and glaring at Rhys. Rhys shuts his mouth.

“Do you know how many people I’ve kicked out of bed, Rhys?”

Mutely, Rhys shakes his head. Jack tosses the broken halves of the pencil over his shoulder carelessly before bending closer to Rhys, forcing him to lean back.

“A crapload. Now, do you know how many get to stay the night?” At Rhys’ headshake, Jack continues. “The number’s very small, kiddo. Very, _very_ small.”

Abruptly, Jack sits back up, crossing his arms and glaring down at Rhys.

“So, your turn to talk. Mind telling me why you felt the need to be so unappreciative of my generous offer, cupcake?”

Rhys opens his mouth and then he closes it. He’s not really sure how even to respond to the anger and irritation in Jack’s tone, let alone the implication that Jack actually wanted him to stay the night. When Jack begins tapping his fingers impatiently, Rhys decides to just go with the easiest truth.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to stay?” He tries. When Jack just frowns bigger, he tries again. “Also you’re still technically my boss…twice over,” Rhys exhales and shrugs apologetically at Jack.

“Ohhhhhhh my god, you are the worst,” Jack groans, flinging his hands up and rolling his eyes. “Look, nobody’s gonna care if you’re screwing the boss, because the _boss_ aka _me_ is not gonna care, and everybody takes their cue from me, mmkay? And anybody who’s not happy will get to discuss matters with the spacey side of an airlock.” He frowns at Rhys, pouting ridiculously. “I can’t believe we missed out on morning blowjobs because of this, wow.”

Rhys chokes and frantically waves for Jack to lower his volume, feeling himself flush at Jack’s casual mention of sex.

“What, are you embarrassed, kitten?” Jack’s frown turns into a gleeful grin at Rhys’ discomfort. “There’s nobody around! If I wanted to I could totally yell ‘morning sex’ and nobody would even hear.” He brings his hands up to cup around his mouth and takes a deep breath, clearly prepared to do so.

Panicked, Rhys scrambles up from his chair and covers Jack’s mouth with his flesh hand. He promptly regrets it when Jack just raises an eyebrow at him and bites, hard.

“Ow! Jack, c’mon, not in the office!” Rhys wipes his throbbing hand down his pants, scowling at Jack’s grin.

“Why not? I _am_ the boss here.” Jack hops off the desk and into Rhys’ personal space, hands going to grab at Rhys’ hips when he tries to move away.

“You’re so making up for the lack of morning sex in my life cupcake, no takebacks.” His hold on Rhys’ hips tightens, not exactly over the bruises from last night, but close enough that Rhys flushes at the reminder, which Jack definitely doesn’t miss out on, going by his leer.

“Aw, that’s cute, Rhysie, but not right now, save your blushes for next time. I gotta get me back to R&D and shoot some incompetent idiots in the face to encourage their marginally more competent brethren, no time for office quickies with you,” Jack pauses, and then looks Rhys up and down.

“Actually…” Jack’s hands go to undo his belt buckle, and Rhys yelps and grabs them, flushing even harder when Jack just cackles and wrestles his hands free to smack Rhys’ cheeks fondly.

“Jack, seriously!” Rhys splutters, hating how hot his face feels right now. He bats Jack’s hands away from his face, and they’re on the verge of dissolving into an incredibly mature round of slappy-hands when Jack’s comm beeps rapidly.

“Ah crud,” Jack frowns at the comm before slipping it into his pocket. “Okay, back to work, kitten. You and me both. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” he gives Rhys one last forceful pat on the cheek before turning around and heading for the elevators.

“Jack! Ow!” Rhys is incredibly tempted to fling a pencil after Jack, but his survival instinct wins out, and he just sits back down at his desk, scowling at Jack’s retreating figure.

“See you on Saturday, kitten! Bring some of your stupid ties! We’ll put them to good use,” Jack calls back loudly, just as the elevator pings and the doors open to reveal some of Rhys’ coworkers, who are about evenly split between cowering from Jack and running out of the elevator into the relative safety of the office.

Rhys sinks in his seat, and watches as Jack shoves his way in through the remaining people in the elevator, and then shoves them out before waving gleefully at Rhys and closing the elevator doors.

His coworkers turn towards him with incredulous expressions on their faces, and he shrinks even further down into his seat, trying his hardest to expire on the spot.

(It doesn’t work.)

\---

So Rhys thinks he maaaay kind of be in a relationship with his boss. Or is it casual sex-buddies? Can it be called casual sex-buddies if they’ve only had sex once?! And Jack wanted him to stay the night, and come over on Saturday- Okay, Rhys always cuts off his train of thought there, because it kind of feels incredibly overwhelming, and he’s not sure what to make of it.

But yeah, basically, Rhys finds himself actually looking forward to Saturday, more than he usually does anyway, when just earlier today he’d been dreading having to come face-to-face with Jack. Even Vasquez’s stupid projects and Quinn’s calling him in to yell at him for not letting him know Jack was in the computing offices doesn’t deter his optimistic good mood.

Unfortunately, by Friday, the good mood has entirely evaporated into a cloud of late nights at work and too much coffee, not enough food. On Friday evening, Rhys steels himself to make what is bound to be an incredibly awkward comm call with Jack.

“Rhysie! Cupcake! What’s up?” Jack’s familiar face pops up on a screen, grinning and animated and- is that a streak of blood on his mask?

“Hi Jack. You’ve got a bit of uh,” Rhys gestures at his own cheek. “Over there, yep, okay it’s gone.”

“Oh, thanks pumpkin. Anyway, why the sudden call? Not that I’m not appreciating the sight of your pretty face or anything,” Jack leers.

Rhys takes a deep breath, and goes for it. “I…I don’t think I can make it over tomorrow?” He winces when Jack’s cheerful grin drops off. “I’m really sorry! It’s just- I have something I need to finish at the office over the weekend. I can call up Sasha to see if she’s free to take over for me, if you want?”

He searches Jack’s face on the faintly flickering screen, worried. The streak of blood may be gone now, but Jack’s face is scary enough without it.

“If I could go, I would! Believe me!” Rhys adds, flustered, when Jack doesn’t respond and merely crosses his arms to lean against his massive yellow chair, lips and brows drawn down heavily. “I don’t know if you’ve tried the coffee here on the 8th floor but, it really sucks, and I’m gonna be drinking a lot of it tonight, tomorrow night, and probably Sunday night so. I miss the coffee machine in your kitchen already.” He lets out a wistful sigh.

The coffee machine in the penthouse _is_ incredibly beautiful, and Rhys has more than once contemplated stealing it to bring home. The only thing stopping him is the knowledge that Jack, whose blood is quite possibly half caffeine and half sugar, would very definitely airlock him for that, tutor to Angel or not. Great sex or not either, for that matter.

“Fine.” Jack snaps the word out, face still stony, and switches the comm video off.

Rhys wants to heave a relieved sigh, but honestly, the look on Jack’s face had not been comforting. Groaning at the entire situation and kind of hating Vasquez more than he had ever thought previously possible, Rhys thunks his head down on his desk.

Already, the office is mostly empty, and as he looks up, Pat, one of the nicest people in Hyperion Rhys has ever met, leaves for the elevator with a sympathetic smile and wave at Rhys.

Rhys returns the wave half-heartedly, and goes to the pantry for yet another mug of shitty coffee before flinging himself back into his chair and to the facial recognition program he’s been debugging the entire day.

\---

Somehow, probably because the gossip vine at Hyperion is ridiculously efficient, Vasquez finds out that Jack visited Rhys in the computing offices, and not to fire Rhys or anything. This only serves to ramp up whatever grudge he has against Rhys, and the next two weeks leaves Rhys going home later and later every day, swamped by the most incredibly petty and time-consuming projects that Vasquez’s stupid oily head can think of.

Vaughn and Yvette have taken to physically dragging Rhys out for lunch at least once a week, and then dragging him home before midnight when Rhys gets too jittery. Yvette even offers to try and requisition a company screen for Rhys to work from home with, but Rhys declines regretfully, knowing that working from home would probably just make things worse, and he’d never be able to sleep in his own bed ever again or something.

The second time Rhys has to cancel on Angel’s tutoring sessions, Jack doesn’t even wait for Rhys to finish his sentence before he cuts the line off. Rhys wants to call him back to apologize and maybe tell him he’ll come anyway, screw the work and screw Vasquez, but when he tries, he only gets a beep and the same cool, impersonal, recorded voice that makes the announcements in the building.

“Handsome Jack is too important for your petty requests, please try the nearest airlock at your earliest convenience.”

Flinging his comm onto the desk, Rhys slumps back in his chair and rubs at his face in despair.

It’s not just getting to see Jack, and maybe getting to figure out whatever it is that’s going on between them, or even maybe a follow up to the sex. (Okay, that’s a lie, the sex is definitely part of it.) It’s also getting to see Angel, and spending time with Angel and Jack, that he misses too. Jack in his own home, and with his daughter is somehow…different, from Handsome Jack in the Hyperion promotional videos, or the Jack that Rhys sometimes gets a glimpse of, entering or leaving the Hyperion offices.

He’s not under any illusions that Jack is a nice or good or even a halfway decent man. Rhys isn’t stupid, or blind, and he knows that the Jack he gets to see on Saturdays and that time at the pool is just the- well, not _nicer_ side of Jack, but maybe his less immediately brutal one, and honestly, Rhys is more worried that it doesn’t bother him enough. Surely the knowledge that Jack happily sends people off to die, has ordered the deaths of even more people, and will probably continue to do so in his quest for power (both Hyperion’s, and his own) should bother him, but…it doesn’t, and that bothers Rhys more, which should probably be very bad.

Groaning, Rhys shakes his head to get rid of those thoughts. There’s really no point, considering he’s gone and fucked it all up now, hasn’t he?

He’s tempted to slide off his chair and lie on the floor, but the pile of work in front of him, thanks very much Vasq-ass, beckons, and he flicks his screen to the first project, sighing.

\---

The third time, Rhys doesn’t even try to call Jack, just sends him an apologetic message and puts his comm away in his bag so that he won’t check it constantly for Jack’s reply.

It’s almost midnight, and he’s been the only one in the office for a few hours now, so when the elevator doors chime and open to reveal Vasquez, he’s taken by surprise.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Normally Rhys would be more circumspect, especially considering Vasquez’s seemingly limitless wealth of stupid tedious projects lately. Today, however, has been one day in what feels like a year of exhausting late nights and shitty coffee, and he’s way too tired to deal with Vasquez’s smarmy face right now.

When Vasquez doesn’t respond, merely standing right outside the elevator to stare at Rhys with wide, panicked eyes, Rhys frowns.

“I’ve sent the reformatted code up to you already, so if you’re here to ask me for it, you might wanna check your screen.” Rhys pauses, and squints at Vasquez. “Are you wearing pajamas?”

Vasquez doesn’t answer, but he does stride forward across the office to Rhys’ desk, normally arrogant face blanched and unnerved. He _is_ wearing pajamas, black and silky looking, and Rhys snorts to himself when he sees the fuzzy slippers on Vasquez’s feet.

“Hey, uh. Rhys? Those projects I gave you? You don’t have to do them, I was just kidding with you!” Vasquez reaches Rhys’ desk, and leans over it to slap a hand on Rhys’ shoulder. Rhys notes absently that the hand is clammy and trembling.

“Are- wait what?” Rhys shrugs Vasquez’s hand from his shoulder, confused and irritated.

“You can go home now! The projects, you don’t have to do them-,” Vasquez laughs, but it’s not his usual booming smarmy one.

“What’s…going on?” Rhys says skeptically. The way Vasquez is acting now is so at odds with his previous cockiness when giving Rhys the projects in the first place that Rhys suspects some kind of joke.

“Nothing! Nothing at all, hah, Rhys, you’re a funny guy, keep up the good work, just send whatever you’ve done to me and head on back home,” Vasquez grins weakly, and gestures at Rhys’ screen.

Rhys folds his arms, and leans back against his chair.

“What’s going on, Vasquez?” He narrows his eyes at Vasquez’s sweaty face.

Vasquez heaves a sigh, and runs his hands through his weirdly flat hair. (Rhys gloats internally at the knowledge that Vasquez apparently uses a fuckton of hair gel to get his hair in place every morning. _Hah_.)

“Look, don’t ask any questions, Rhys, just finish up, go home, and don’t come to the office tomorrow. Spend it doing…whatever,” Vasquez trails off, and winces.

Sudden realization dawns on Rhys, and he sits up, arms loosening from their crossed position. “Wait, did Jack- I mean, Handsome Jack. Did he say something to you?”

Vasquez backs away, hands raised. “I didn’t say anything! Just- finish sending the stuff up, and go home, _please_.”

Confused, but willing to overlook whatever’s going on for the possibility of getting into his own bed at an hour that’s only mildly indecent, Rhys slowly does so, sending all the work he has on the four projects Vasquez had given him two days earlier off to Vasquez’s account, and shutting his screen off. But not without giving Vasquez, who lingers near the elevators like a particularly clingy bug, a lot of suspicious looks.

Vasquez heaves a relieved sigh when he sees Rhys picking up his bag. "Finally," he groans, and Rhys rolls his eyes.

“You didn’t have to wait,” Rhys points out snidely as he walks past Vasquez and into the elevator, digging in his bag for his comm.

Vasquez just grimaces at him, and presses the button for the first floor. They stand in awkward silence on opposite ends of the elevator as it moves silently down. Rhys takes the opportunity to stare judgmentally at Vasquez’s slippers, which on closer look seem to be made out of bullymong fur. _Gross_.

The elevator eventually comes to a smooth halt at the ground floor, and Vasquez flees with a muttered farewell into an obnoxiously flashy car parked illegally at the entrance of the building.

Making a face at Vasquez’s retreating figure, Rhys looks down at the comm, forgotten in his hand. There’s only one message.

> “See you tomorrow afternoon, kitten.”  
> 

\---

The next morning, Rhys wakes up in his own bed and stretches languorously, relishing the thought of not having to go into the office, and getting to spend time with Jack and Angel later.

He still wonders what Jack said to Vasquez to make him come rescind his projects at such a late hour, in his pajamas no less. Mostly because he wishes he could have that kind of hold over Vasquez. Might make up for all the shit Vasquez has put him through, hah.

Bounding out of bed with fresh energy from actually getting a proper night’s sleep for the first time in forever, he heads out of his room to see if Vaughn’s awake.

“Bro!!” He yells, taking a running leap from Vaughn’s doorway and onto Vaughn’s bed where Vaughn is a huddled lump under his blankets.

“Fwarugh!” Vaughn lets out a strangled shriek before tumbling off his bed and onto the floor in a tangled mess of blankets. Rhys collapses on the now empty bed, cackling.

“Oh my god, _why_ ,” Vaughn squawks, trying to disentangle himself. “Why- how are you so awake!?” He squints up at Rhys. “Didn’t you stay back late to work on Vasquez’s shit?”

“Here, c’mon bro,” Rhys reaches down and helps Vaughn extricate himself from the blankets, handing him his glasses from the bedside table.

“Vasquez came in late last night in his PJs, oh man, dude, I wish I had a picture of his _hair_ , it looked so terrible. And he wears bullymong fur slippers!” Rhys sniggers at the memory. In front of him, Vaughn, who has now flopped onto the bed, turns over to give Rhys an incredulous stare.

“Bullymong fur slippers? _Dude_ …” They both pause for a while to contemplate the image.

“Yeah, I know! Anyway, he came in and suddenly took back all the projects he gave me. Weird, right?” Rhys tries not to think about Jack’s text and what it implies. “Anyway, I’m heading out for Angel’s tutoring session later, but d’you wanna go out for lunch at that waffle place? My treat.”

“Hell yeah!” Vaughn leaps out of bed and strikes a pose. “Bro, you never need to ask when it comes to waffles when it comes to, _The Waffle Man_ , accountant by day, waffle demolisher by…also by day!”

Snorting, Rhys gets off and pushes Vaughn towards his closet. “Alright. Go get showered and changed, waffle man.”

\---

Rhys takes a deep breath, not entirely ready to knock on the penthouse door just yet. It’s only been less than a month since he last was here, but he feels awkward and unnerved all over again.

He stares at the door in trepidation before turning around to walk to the end of the corridor and back. And then he stares at the door some more.

His flesh hand comes up to knock at the door but before he can steel himself to knock, it’s flung open and Jack’s face is right there.

“Cupcake!” Jack grins at Rhys, and Rhys awkwardly lowers his hand just in time to catch his balance against the doorframe as Angel comes barreling out past Jack and into Rhys, small arms flinging themselves around Rhys’ waist.

“Rhys! You’re back!” Rhys bends down and returns her hug gratefully, squeezing tight and snickering when she lets out an “oof!” and wriggles out of his grasp to cross her arms and glare at him.

“Hey Angel. Sorry I couldn’t come before,” Rhys says apologetically, before looking up to meet Jack’s gaze. “Hello, Jack. Thanks for uh, did you talk to Vasquez?”

“Yeah he did! I made Daddy do it once I figured out from the datalogs that he was the one giving you all that extra work,” Angel chirps up, glare melting away as she grabs Rhys’ hand and tugs him into the living room, pushing her father ahead of her. Jack, who rolls his eyes but goes along willingly, turns his head to give Rhys a wink.

“So, did that loser crap his pants when you saw him? He totally looked like he was gonna crap his pants when I called, but those idiots always do, so it’s hard to tell.” Cackling, Jack goes to his usual armchair in the living room, and Angel pulls Rhys to the coffee table, where there’s a massive map spread out on it, along with a bunch of figurines.

“Yeah…nah, I wish. He was in his pajamas though. Thanks for that blackmail material. Hey, did you know they make bullymong fur slippers?” Rhys asks as he sits down on the sofa to examine the figurines. “Angel, is this the newest Bunkers & Badasses?! I didn’t know you played! Oh man, I wish Vaughn and Fiona were here, they’re really into this.”

Angel nods, picking up a pair of dice and rubbing them together. “Maybe someday? It’ll be more fun with more people, right?” She glances sidelong at Jack, who leans back in his seat and shrugs.

“Maybe someday, sweetheart. And yes, by the way, bullymong fur is very soft, you have no idea what you’re missing out on, Rhysie boy.” Jack sighs heavily. “Once had a carpet made out of bullymong fur. Thaaat, that was some good stuff. Then some idiot didn’t move away fast enough, and- well,” he coughs, glancing at Angel.

Rhys makes a face at Jack before turning back to Angel. “Wait, you figured out from…datalogs?”

“Yep,” Angel pops the last syllable in a way that’s oddly familiar. “Daddy was really grumpy when you couldn’t come last week again,” Rhys flushes at that, but Angel just continues casually, ignoring her father’s choked “Lies!” in the background, and Rhys’ red face. “So I went to access the Hyperion mainframe, and your screen’s records showed activity linked to Vasquez’s screen, and from there it was pretty obvious.” She blinks up at Rhys, large blue eyes uncertain. “Should I not have done that? I’m sorry, I just- I missed you too and-,”

“No no it’s okay! _Thank you_ for that.” Rhys leans forward and ruffles her hair. “I think last night was the first time I actually got to sleep for more than 4 hours in like, the past three weeks, so really. Thanks.”

In reply to that, Angel beams, a full, toothy grin, and Rhys is struck anew by his affection for her, tempered by the uncomfortable awareness of exactly how smart she is, and how her naiveté doesn’t exclude that. When he glances up, Jack is gazing down at Angel with propriety pride gleaming fiercely in his eyes, and when Jack looks up to meet Rhys’ gaze, Rhys can’t help but look away.

\---

They spend the afternoon and most of the evening playing Bunkers & Badasses. Or rather, _trying_ to, because Jack insists on being the Bunker Master, and putting Angel and Rhys’ characters through increasingly ridiculous scenarios.

“Okay. Your characters have landed on a giant whoopee cushion, roll initiative to see who gets to jump off it first, and blame the other person for the giant fart sound! Heh heh. Farts.”

“I’m hungryyy. Roll initiative to see which of you gets to go to the fridge and get me my emergency pretzels!”

So on and so forth.

Still, it’s fun. Angel seems to be enjoying herself, and Jack is being particularly obnoxious in the way that means he's enjoying himself too.

After dinner, when Angel begins to droop against Rhys’ robotic arm, which she’s clutching like a bolster, Rhys gently extricates his arm and carries her to bed under Jack’s supervision. When she’s all tucked in, he follows Jack’s pointed directions to the doorway of the penthouse.

They stand there for a while, Rhys awkwardly trying not to fidget under Jack’s scrutiny. Eventually, Jack speaks up.

“You look like crap. Go home and get some sleep. See you next week, kitten.” Jack tugs Rhys forward by his collar, and plants a smacking kiss on his forehead before shoving him out of the door.

Relieved that they’re going to postpone the conversation a bit longer, Rhys rubs at his forehead and gives Jack a tentative smile, which Jack returns by leering at Rhys and smacking him in the butt.

Giving Jack his best scowl and trying to hide his grin, Rhys turns away, only to turn back as he’s reminded of something.

Jack, still leaning in the doorway, raises an eyebrow at Rhys. “Changed your mind, pumpkin?”

“Ah, I wanted to ask- is it okay if I bring Angel to the museum next week? I wanna make up for not being able to make it for the past few weeks, and I think she’ll really like it. Wait, has she been to the museum before, like have you brought her or…” Rhys trails off, because Jack is giving him one of those inscrutable looks of his, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

“Right, okay, bad idea, got it,” Rhys runs a hand through his hair and laughs nervously. “Okay, I’m gonna uh, go ahead and leave now. See you next week, I guess?”

“Wait. Rhys.” Jack reaches out and takes hold of Rhys’ upper arm, his robotic one, turning him back to face Jack.

“I’ll have the museum ready for you and Angel. The car will pick you up at noon.” Jack releases Rhys’ arm, fingers lingering over the groove where the bicep would be. “Not gonna join you guys though, museums creep me out, all that old gross stuff, eurgh,” Jack shudders theatrically, broad shoulders moving in a way that Rhys can’t help but cast a lingering glance at.

“Oh?” Jack leans forward, smirking, when he catches Rhys’ gaze. Flushing, Rhys backs away and hurries to the elevator, ignoring Jack’s low appreciative whistle and “Nice _buns_ , doll!”

\---

The next week at work is…odd, for lack of a better word.

The funny stares that had come his way when word had gone round that Jack visited him in his office only intensify and triple when Vasquez crosses paths with Rhys on Monday afternoon only to blanch and turn around, walking off in the opposite direction. Apparently, the popular rumor is that Handsome Jack had marked Rhys for personal attention, and that he hadn’t been happy when he’d found out that Vasquez was bullying his favorite chew-toy. Rhys tries not to think about how chew-toy is pretty literal, and spends the entire week keeping as low a profile as he can.

On Saturday, when he gets into Jack’s car, a very enthusiastic Angel, and a much less enthusiastic Wilhelm greet him, and they make their way to the museum, bickering amicably about whether or not the museum will have a planetarium. Angel is Team Yes, Rhys is Team No, and Wilhelm is Team Look-Out-The-Window-And-Pretend-Nothing’s-Happening.

At the museum, Wilhelm bids them stay in the car while he goes out to double check that the museum is secured, and shuts the door behind him.

Rhys turns to Angel, and asks, “So, natural history wing first, or tech advancements wing?” The look of consternation on Angel’s face makes him laugh, but before either of them can say a word, gunshots ring from outside the car, and Rhys instinctively ducks, grabbing Angel and yanking her down too, just as a spray of bullets slams into the windows on both sides of the car.

Angel cries out, a high terrified sound. Rhys, clutching at her, isn’t too far off from screaming either, but he holds himself together, just barely.

“Shh, Angel, it’s gonna be okay!” He whispers, patting her shoulders in reassurance. “Look, stay down, I’m gonna go out to see what’s going on, and _don’t_ come out, no matter what you hear, alright?” He nudges her down until she’s crouched on the floor of the car between the seats, and gives her an encouraging smile. At least, he hopes it’s encouraging, because he doesn’t really feel up to it right now.

Swallowing, he turns to the door, and braces himself. The windows of the car are apparently made of some bulletproof material, but the way they’re spider webbed with cracks doesn’t look very safe, and giving one last glance back at Angel’s wide, pleading eyes, he slowly opens the door and peeks out.

The museum entrance is right ahead of them, but before he can look around any more, a pair of legs blocks his view.

“Get out.” A gravelly, distorted voice barks at him.

Wincing, Rhys crawls out, making sure to shut the door behind him.

“What’s uh- what’s going on over here?” He demands, trying to sound as pompous and rich and like someone who would own a car and book the entire museum. Someone who isn’t Jack.

“Who the fuck are you?” The person in front of him, who turns out to be wearing some kind of helmet and wielding a very intimidating looking gun, snarls. “Where’s the girl?”

“Wha- Girl? There’s no girl, there’s just me, and I’m the one who should be asking, who are _you_?” Rhys blusters, trying his hardest to channel the most obnoxious and snobbish person he knows: Vasquez.

“What, that scream from earlier, that was you?” Rhys can’t see the person’s face because of the helmet, but the voice sounds very judgmental.

“Excuse you, gunshots are an extenuating circumstance!!” Rhys’ voice cracks, which would normally be humiliating but he’s actually really grateful for it right now. “Who the hell are you people, and why are you shooting at _my_ car!?”

“Ah, just kill him and get it over with. He’s probably some Hyperion stooge working for Jack. We need to get the girl and go,” a voice from behind Rhys calls out.

Rhys watches, petrified, as the helmeted person nods, and raises his gun. The barrel seems to be bigger than physics can account for, a massive black hole that he can’t stop staring at.

He feels a drop of sweat drip down his neck, and watches as the person’s finger goes to the gun’s trigger as if in slow motion.

“Wait!” Behind Rhys, the door clicks open, and he shuts his eyes in despair.

“You’re looking for me, right? Don’t hurt him!” Angel moves to stand in front of Rhys, arms spread out.

“Angel…no, get back inside!” Rhys hisses, trying to get back in front of her

“Yo boss! We found the girl!” The henchman in front of Rhys yells, gun not budging an inch.

“Okay, bring her along then!” An answering shout comes from someplace to the left.

“What about the other guy?”

“What other guy?!”

“Dunno, was in the car with her,” this last bit is at a normal volume, because the boss, who turns out to be another helmeted and armored person, this time in purple, approaches to stare at Rhys and Angel.

Rhys watches the exchange, trying to figure out if there’s any way he can sneak off or persuade them that he’s useless and should be left behind.

Before he can say anything though, Angel speaks up, in a trembling voice. “What did you do to Wilhelm? Please don’t hurt him or Rhys.”

Right, Wilhelm! Rhys looks around as discreetly as he can. There’s no sign of the grizzled man anywhere, unless you count the armored bodies scattered around that Rhys _really_ doesn’t want to examine too closely.

“Knock him out, bring him along. Might be useful,” the leader says, ignoring Angel entirely.

Rhys doesn’t even have time to react before he feels a blinding pain at the back of his head, and everything goes black.

\---

When he wakes up, he panics, because he can’t see anything, his head hurts, so much, and his echo eye isn’t responding to his frantic attempts to scan anything.

His first thought is of the empty blackness of the gun’s barrel, and irrationally, he thinks that he must somehow have been sucked in, he’s going to be met by a bullet, and then–

Whimpering, he tries to reach up, to touch his eye, the back of his head where it feels sticky and wet, the throbbing feeling on his cheekbone, anything, but his hands are tied together behind his back, and he struggles vainly against his bonds, nearly wrenching his robotic arm out of its shoulder socket in the process.

“Rhys!” A familiar voice, familiar small hands touching his face. Desperately, he turns his face to where the voice seems to be coming from.

“Angel?” He slurs, because his mouth feels swollen and numb. When he licks at his lips to wet them, there’s a stinging sensation, and he tastes blood. “Wha-”

“Shh, it’s okay Rhys, it’s okay.” Angel’s hand pats gently at his forehead, smoothing his hair back. “We’re in some kind of warehouse, they left us in a container and locked it, then left. It’s just us now, it’s okay.”

As Rhys calms down under her soothing hands, he notes that her voice is shaky but firming up as she talks to him, and he tries his best to follow her example.

“I can’t- can’t see,” he grits out, forcing his mouth to shape each word carefully.

“Oh! It’s okay, you’re just blindfolded. I think? It’s too dark to see, but they hit you pretty hard, and um,” Angel’s voice is very small as her hands go to gently probe at the back of his head. “I think you’re bleeding, Rhys.”

Rhys holds back a hiss of pain as her fingers brush over a tender, stinging spot, but he doesn’t do a very good job of holding it back, because her hands hastily retreat with a whispered “Sorry!”

“It’s okay,” the words come clearer and clearer, to his relief. “Are you alright? They didn’t- did they hurt you?” He struggles to sit up, with Angel’s aid.

“No, they were very careful not to, even when they took my comm from me. Oh, um. They kind of took your comms and shot them to bits, sorry.”

“Nah,” Rhys shakes his head. “Man, your dad’s gonna be pissed though. That comm he gave me was really fancy.”

“He can deal with it,” Angel snorts. “He’s rich, remember?”

“…Right.”

Angel’s fingers come up to Rhys’ face again. “Is it alright if I try to undo your blindfold?”

“Please,” Rhys exhales. “Thanks, Angel. Sorry I’m not- well. Sorry I couldn’t get them to leave you alone.”

“No, they would’ve k- they would’ve hurt you, Rhys.” Angel’s voice is firm, and so are her fingers when they go up to gently loosen the blindfold so she can push it off, careful not to get it caught in the sticky blood on the back of Rhys’ head.

When the blindfold is off, Rhys blinks a little, letting his eyes adjust. There’s nothing much to adjust to though; the container they’re in is dim and the only source of light comes from a thin strip at the top of what’s presumably the container’s doors.

He looks around, and sees Angel sitting next to him, watching him uncertainly, blindfold in her hand.

“Oh god, you’re okay,” Rhys says fervently.

At that, Angel laughs, a bit shaky, but a laugh nonetheless. “I _told_ you I was, silly.”

“Well, it’s good to get visual confirmation, alright?” Rhys twists to look around the container, ignoring the throbbing of his head. “Okay, we’re gonna be okay, trust me. Those morons didn’t see my eye, I think, so gimme a moment, and I'll try and find us a way to get out.”

Angel nods, and they sit for a while in silence as Rhys tries to use his echo-eye to scan their surroundings. However, the only thing it highlights is the handle on the container’s doors, and the only thing it has to say about that handle is: “Locked. Requires physical key.” Great. Very helpful.

Sighing, he twists so his back is to Angel.

“Hey uh, can you see what they’re using to tie my arms together?” Rhys asks.

“Um…some kind of cuffs, they’re locked with a keypad, but…” Angel taps at it to no avail. “Not responding. I think it’s coded to a fingerprint.”

“Ah, well okay that’s one plan out then,” Rhys snorts. “I don’t suppose you have an unlock tool on you, right? 20-TF would be the best, but any of the other 20 types should do the trick too.”

“Yeah, let me just get my bag of tools,” Angel says drily, and they share a shaky laugh.

Just then, screams ring out from around them, and Rhys jumps. In front of him, Angel shrinks back against the wall of the container, and he wriggles his way over to her.

“Shh, it’s okay, come here, get between me and the wall. If they come in they’ll have to go through me first.” He injects as much false bravado into his voice as possible, but the screams and shouts continue to come intermittently, from multiple directions, ranging from terrified to in excruciating pain, and he winces, trying not to imagine what must be going on outside.

Something thumps against the container, hard enough to shake it, and Angel clutches at Rhys’ shoulder. Rhys uses his hands to brace himself against the container wall behind him, and gets to his knees in front of Angel.

Another thump comes, this one on the doors of the container.

Rhys and Angel watch the doors nervously. A series of rattling thumps come, and then the container doors are flung open.

Rhys winces against the bright light, and the figure silhouetted against it, but a wave of relief washes over him. He’s seen that silhouette in Hyperion promotional posters way too many times to not recognize it for who it is.

“Daddy!” Angel cries, releasing Rhys’ shoulder and running forwards.

Jack picks her up and clutches her to him, and Rhys watches on, sagging against the wall of the container, limbs trembling with the aftereffects of adrenaline.

Jack eventually puts Angel back down to run searching hands all over her, murmuring questions that she answers with nods and headshakes.

“Daddy, I’m okay, really!” Angel eventually says, exasperated and fond.

“Okay, sweetheart, you’re sure?” Jack holds her by the shoulders, looking her over.

“Yeah!” Angel nods firmly before going forward and wrapping her arms around her father’s shoulders.

Jack picks her up, cradling her with one arm, and steps further into the container.

“Heey, Jack.” Rhys says nervously.

“Rhysie,” Jack replies, stopping before Rhys.

“Uh.” Rhys swallows. “Sorry, I guess the museum wasn’t the best idea?”

There’s no response from Jack for a long second, and then suddenly he’s reaching forwards to yank Rhys up by the neck of his shirt.

“Wh- ow!” Rhys yelps, legs giving out beneath him.

“Rhys!” Angel cries out. “Daddy, don’t- they hit him on the head, don’t hurt him!”

Jack drops Rhys like a hot potato, snarling. He puts Angel back down with deliberate care, and then stalks out of the container, one hand going to pull out his gun from his holster.

Angel bends over Rhys, helping him up, and they hobble their way over to the entrance of the container to the sounds of Jack shooting the crap out of the nearest armored body.

Well. It _used_ to be a body.

Rhys averts his eyes from the sight, and looks down to see Angel grimacing at her dress. Now that they’re in a decent light, he sees long streaks of blood and…other stuff marring the grey of her dress.

“Oh my god,” Rhys starts, but Angel shakes her head.

“I think that’s from Daddy’s clothing.” Her voice is distant, and Rhys is abruptly reminded of Jack’s presence.

He looks over, to where Jack has apparently run out of bullets, and has proceeded to kicking the pile of gore vehemently.

“Uh, Jack?” He ventures, after it looks like Jack would happily keep kicking for an extended amount of time.

“Hmm?” Jack spins around, face casually questioning. There is blood smeared across his mask and in his hair, and across his chest there’s more blood, and…other stuff.

Rhys swallows uncomfortably. That should _really_ not be attractive in any way at all.

“Are…are you okay?” Rhys asks, and then promptly wants to smack himself because, stupid question, much?

“Oh, _cupcake_ ,” Jack strides over to Rhys and Angel, and grabs Rhys’ face in his hands, turning it back and forth gently. “What did they do to your pretty face?” Jack’s voice is low and crooning, and his grip on Rhys’ jaw is gentle, but his face is tight with anger, harsh angles made harsher by the streaks of blood.

“It’s- I’m fine, really.” Rhys grimaces. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t think the museum would be such a bad idea.”

“C’mon, we’re going home,” Jack growls, letting go of Rhys’ face to pick up Angel, who tucks her face into Jack’s neck, avoiding the sights around them. Jack’s free hand reaches out to clamp down onto Rhys’ arm, only to be stymied by the handcuffs.

“The hell is this?” Jack asks, scowling.

“Fingerprint locked,” Angel pipes up from Jack’s neck, not lifting her head.

Still scowling, Jack stalks over to the nearest body, and beckons Rhys over. Trying his hardest not to look or smell too much, Rhys goes over. Lucky for him, the thumb on the half torn-off hand that Jack yanks up works, and the handcuffs fall off easily.

Flinging the arm down with a disgusted sound, Jack strides out of the gore-filled warehouse, pulling Rhys along with him.

Rhys goes willingly, and when they reach a car that looks exactly like the one that got shot up earlier, he collapses into the seats with relief, gives in to the throbbing in his head, and promptly passes out.

\---

When Rhys wakes up, he’s in Jack’s arms, being carried into the penthouse.

“Huh- What’s going on?” He asks fuzzily, struggling to get out of Jack’s arms.

“Stop squirming,” Jack chides him, and places him down into Jack’s armchair in the living room. Rhys rubs at his eyes and sits up, grimacing when he realizes that the blood from Jack’s shirt is now all over his clothes too.

Once Jack has put Rhys down, he strides off to make threats into his comm, alternatively yelling instructions to “wipe out the rest of that Atlas scum, or I’ll go there myself and use your _face_ to wipe them up” and voice dropping into low tones that Rhys can’t really hear, but which somehow terrify him more than the shouted threats.

Looking around, he sees Angel, seated primly on the sofa, eyes downcast and mouth pressed together. As he watches, Jack’s voice gets particularly snarly, and Angel flinches.

Rhys struggles out from the surprisingly cushy armchair, and makes his way over to kneel in front of Angel.

“Hey, Angel. Wanna go shower and change out of those messy clothes?” He asks her, keeping his voice hushed. She nods, not looking up at him. He stands up, and offers her his hand. She takes it, and they make their way to her bathroom in silence, avoiding Jack’s paced route.

\---

Rhys sits beside the bathtub, rubbing shampoo into Angel’s hair. It’s a soothing thing to do, and Angel seems to find it soothing too, going by how her shoulders have slowly relaxed from their tense stance.

“Rhys?” Her voice is very soft, when she finally speaks up.

“Yeah?”

“Does…does daddy scare you, sometimes?”

Rhys’ hands pause as he considers Angel’s question. When she flinches, though, he immediately goes back to combing the soapy suds through her long hair.

“…Sometimes he does, yeah,” he eventually answers, because it’s the truth, and Angel’s not stupid, she deserves that at least.

Angel exhales, long and slow. “I think I knew, before. But…” She trails off, and turns in the bathtub until she’s facing Rhys, an uncertain frown on her face.

“It’s okay,” Rhys wipes some soapsuds off her forehead before scooping up some water and pouring it over her scalp gently. “I don’t think those people from earlier were…very good people,” he adds carefully.

Angel doesn’t stop frowning. “Not even bad people deserve to-,” she cuts herself off, shaking her head. Soapsuds fly all over the bathroom, and Rhys protests indignantly when some land on his face.

Fortunately, that seems to break Angel out of her tense mood, and she laughs, flinging a handful of soapy water at Rhys.

He splashes water back at her in retaliation, only to wince as leaning forward makes the dried blood in his hair catch and pull uncomfortably.

“Oh! Sorry Rhys,” Angel’s hands fly up to cover her mouth as she watches on in consternation.

“It’s okay! I just gotta go wash up and get a healing kit and I’ll be as good as new!” Rhys rushes to assure her. “Tell you what, today’s been a long day, and I think we both deserve to take a very long nap. I’ll let you finish bathing and change up, and see you in your room in a bit, okay?”

At her nod, he stands up, but not before splashing her one last time just to see her smile, and leaves.

When Rhys re-enters the living room, Jack is still pacing around the house, but he’s no longer on his comm, and his hands are now clasped behind his back.

“Angel okay?” Jack asks when he sees Rhys.

“Yep. I think she’s pretty tired.” Rhys hovers uncertainly at the door to Angel’s rooms before making his decision.

He strides over and into Jack’s path, and to his surprise, Jack actually ceases his pacing to stare at him instead of just bowling him over like Rhys’d been expecting.

“Look, she’s been through a lot today, and I’m pretty sure that was somebody’s brains smeared on her dress, so if you could please- just calm down in front of her or something?” Rhys’ flesh hand goes up automatically to run through his hand nervously, but when he touches the crusty blood there, he flinches, and puts his hand back down.

In front of him, Jack is giving him an inscrutable look. He seems to be doing that more and more often, and Rhys is kind of wary, because Jack’s face is normally so mobile and expressive that a lack of expression is…worrying, to say the least. He wonders if he’s been doing something wrong.

Finally, Jack speaks up.

“I’ll lend you some clothes. You’re sleeping here tonight. With Angel, with me, whatever.” Jack turns around and heads towards the door to his rooms, waving behind him for Rhys to follow.

“Can I at least call my friends first? My roommate will be worried if I don’t make it home-,” Rhys cuts himself off to catch the comm thrown carelessly over Jack’s shoulder.

He makes the call to Vaughn on autopilot, and when Vaughn’s familiar voice asks, “Hello?” suspiciously, Rhys lets out a sigh of relief.

“Vaughn, it’s me, bro.”

“Rhys!! Dude, what happened to your comm? Also, did you hear? There was some shootout at the museum-”

“Umm, yeah. I was there,” he hurries on over Vaughn’s concerned squawks, very mindful of Jack, who has emerged from his closet with clothes in hand, and is now watching Rhys’ conversation with narrowed eyes.

“Listen, I’m staying over at- a friend’s place, don’t worry about me, okay? See you tomorrow, bro. Don’t finish up Fiona’s cookies without me!”

“Bro, please. I’ll save you maybe half of one. Okay, I hope you’re okay, dude. See you tomorrow.” Vaughn seems to have sensed Rhys’ discomfort, and ends the call without his usual banter.

Rhys hands the comm back to Jack, who pockets it and holds the clothes out to Rhys.

“Use my bathroom. There are healing kits in the cabinet under the sink.” Jack jerks a thumb to the door behind him.

Nodding, Rhys goes to do so.

\---

When he emerges from what was quite possibly the best shower he’s ever had, Jack’s no longer anywhere to be seen, but the door to Angel’s rooms has been left open, and the front door is now locked. Placing his scrubbed clothes into the washer with Angel’s dress and setting it to wash and dry, he goes to check on Angel.

She’s curled up in bed, but perks up when Rhys opens the door carefully.

“Rhys? Is that you?”

“Yep, just me. Do you want me to come in?”

“Please? Daddy said he was going out.” Angel holds up her scythid plush toy. “I’m cuddling bunny, wanna help me cuddle squishybug?”

Rhys snorts and lets himself in, carefully closing the door behind him. Angel makes space beside her on the frankly ridiculously large bed for a 9 year old, and Rhys moves to lie facing her, taking the scythid toy and holding it in his arms like Angel’s holding the bunny.

Angel wriggles around until she’s facing him too. “Are those daddy’s clothes?”

“Hm?” Rhys looks down at his clothing. “Oh, yeah. Looks like the ones you gave me that first time, actually.”

“I told you they were from the pile daddy never wears anymore,” Angel says sleepily before yawning, wide and loud.

“Well, that’s lucky for me then, isn’t it?” Rhys uses the scythid toy to poke Angel’s chin, eliciting a sleepy giggle.

“Goodnight, Angel. Don’t let the scythids bite.”

\---

Rhys wakes up some time later, sweating and frozen and panting heavily. He can’t remember the details of his nightmare, but he’s not entirely sure he wants to, to be honest.

Rolling heavily out of bed, he glances down at Angel, who’s thankfully still asleep. Her brow is furrowed, but even as he watches, it smoothens out, and she curls in tighter, muttering something about cloud densities, which eases some of the tension in Rhys’ chest.

Rhys makes his way out of her room quietly, and goes to the living room. The familiar inky blackness of the sky outside, tempered by the faint glimmers of distant stars is a comforting sight, and he walks over to the window to rest his forehead against the cool glass, sighing.

“Bad dreams, kitten?”

Rhys doesn’t quite jump when he hears Jack’s voice, low and pensive. The night feels too quiet for surprises, or maybe he just doesn’t have the energy to be surprised. He nods against the window silently.

“C’mere.” Jack’s voice brooks no disobedience, but Rhys turns willingly anyway.

Jack’s seated in his armchair, a bottle of something clear that’s probably not water in his hand. His gaze is hooded and fixed on Rhys, and the faint starlight from the window gleams on the dark smears across his mask and chest.

Rhys walks over, next to the armchair. As he nears, Jack reaches up and tugs him down to sit on the arm of the armchair, facing the window like Jack is. One arm slips around Rhys’ waist, and Rhys sighs and places his own hand over it, too tired to question the familiarity and intimacy.

This close, he can smell blood and alcohol, and faintly underneath that, gunpowder.

“Y’know…” Jack’s fingers rub contemplatively at Rhys’ waist, pushing the borrowed t-shirt away so that the rough pads of his fingers catch along the sensitive skin there. “When I first heard that somebody had taken my baby girl, my first thought was, _Rhys_. I mean, you ask if you can bring her to the museum, and when there’s only the two of you, she gets kidnapped. What a coincidence, am I right?”

It takes a while for Jack’s words to sink in, but when they do, Rhys stiffens, all his previous tiredness swept away by a flush of adrenaline.

“Calm down, kitten.” Jack’s arm tightens around Rhys’ waist, and when Rhys doesn’t relax, he tugs, hard, and Rhys falls into Jack’s lap with a muffled “Oof!”

Rhys tries to sit up into a more dignified position, but Jack’s hand is a heavy bar around his chest.

“I said, calm _down_ ,” Jack’s voice snaps out irritably, and Rhys subsides, but he’s unable to keep his eyes off of Jack, who’s looking down at him with his head tilted, face expressionless.

Jack’s other hand drops the bottle carelessly onto the floor (Rhys sincerely hopes the bottle was capped, because the living room carpet is probably worth about as much as his entire apartment), and comes up to carefully probe at the back of Rhys’ head, where the healing kit had done its neat work. Once he’s satisfied, Jack moves to cradle Rhys’ head, large hand deceptively warm and gentle against the back of it.

“Then I listened to the recordings of the incident from the car.” Jack’s voice is casual, but his fingers tangle in the short hair at Rhys’ nape almost tenderly. “They were going to kill you.”

Rhys closes his eyes and shudders at the reminder of the terrifying, empty black stare of the gun’s barrel. Right, that had been the nightmare that’d woken him up. Thanks for the reminder, Jack.

“Shh, shh.” Jack’s other hand comes up to cup Rhys’ jaw. “I killed them.” His voice is darkly satisfied, and Rhys shivers again, this time for an entirely different reason. He turns his face into Jack’s wrist, burying his nose in the surprisingly soft skin there. Here, there’s no smell of blood, only the smell of Jack, and Rhys finds himself strangely comforted.

When Rhys opens his eyes, Jack’s still staring at him curiously. “You could’ve given her to them. Left her behind.”

Scowling, Rhys sits up, pushing Jack’s hands away. Whatever lingering intimacy he’d been feeling is replaced with indignation, and he snaps, “What, you think I’d do that?!”

To his surprise, Jack only grins, and tugs Rhys forward into a slow but bruising and fierce kiss, one that Rhys returns instinctively. The slow slide of Jack’s tongue in his mouth feels like a reward, somehow.

When they break apart, Rhys stares at Jack and licks his lips, tasting blood. In front of him, Jack’s eyes are searching across Rhys’ face in the dim light.

“They laid hands on my baby girl, and they hurt you,” Jack’s voice is soft, but harsh and threatening, and Rhys should really not find it comforting at all. “I’m gonna make them _pay_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps: i made a tumblr for borderlands stuff! (and cats). ssealdog@tumblr.com come say hi :D or cry over borderlands with me idk, whichever floats ur boat (Y)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's DONE!!! *flings confetti in air* oh man thank you guys so much for reading and for all the super nice comments and messages and kudos and stuff ;o; this was the first fic I've ever posted and all of you were super encouraging and sweet so thank you so much, i don't know if i could've finished it without you all tbh *hearteyes @ u all*
> 
> that being said, i really hope you enjoy this last chapter!! and that it doesn't disappoint or anything ahahaha...OTL
> 
> ps: i'm not entirely sure if i'm tagging what goes on in this chapter right (is it light BDSM or dom/sub undertones?? ¯\\_(;o;)_/¯ is there a diff????) so please let me know if i need to change tags or add tags!!

Rhys wakes up the next morning next to a softly breathing Angel, with no idea of how he got there. The last thing he remembers is being curled in Jack’s lap, Jack’s hands petting him almost absently as the stars outside the window spin by slowly.

Oh god, he hopes he didn’t accidentally drool on Jack or something.

When he stirs, Angel yawns and turns around, patting his shoulder sleepily.

“Morning, Rhys.”

Rhys finds himself yawning too. “Morning, Angel. Did you sleep well?”

“Mm.” Angel blinks at him slowly, eyes still only half-open.

They lie there for a while in peaceful silence. Angel’s bed is soft, and it’s warm under the covers in the chill of the room. Rhys turns his face into the pillow, yawning again.

“Do you think daddy will make pancakes for us?” Angel finally says, rolling over to stretch.

“Pancakes?” Rhys perks up.

“Yeah, he makes nice pancakes, you should try them!” Angel gets off the bed to pad over to the door. “C’mon, Rhys!”

Rhys groans exaggeratedly, but follows Angel in rolling out of bed and going to the wash up before they head to the living room.

Outside, Jack is pacing around the living room, comm in hand. When he sees Rhys and Angel, he stops, and holds his arms out.

“Sweetheart! Kitten! About frickin’ time you lazyskags woke up!” He strides forward, and picks Angel up, giving her a smacking kiss on each cheek, making her giggle and shove his face away.

“Daddy’s gotta go take care of some stuff, but the entire building is secure, and Nisha’s coming over later, so you guys should be fine.” He puts Angel down and turns to Rhys, giving him a critical once-over. Rhys self-consciously tries to neaten his hair, aware of how messy he must look.

“Man, Nisha’s gonna have _fun_ with you, but don’t let her scare you off ‘kay.” Jack pauses, and narrows his eyes at Rhys, then leans forward to whisper in his ear. “Don’t get tricked into letting her spank you either, that’s for _me_.”

Rhys flushes and steps back hastily. Jack gives him finger-guns and an eyebrow wiggle before spinning around and making his way behind the breakfast bar, rolling up his sleeves.

“Angel! Any special requests from my baby girl?” He holds up an egg. “Omelet?”

“Pancakes!” Angel says enthusiastically, climbing onto a chair at the breakfast bar.

“Alllllright, pancakes for Angel. What about you, cupcake? Sorry, can’t make cupcakes for you,” Jack sniggers at his own joke.

Giving Jack his best unimpressed face, Rhys goes over.

“Angel says your pancakes are good, so…pancakes? I didn’t know you could cook, actually,” he comments. “Do you need a hand? I can hold the bowl or something.”

“Naw, sit your perky butt down. I’m a one-man-kitchen-show, and anyway you’ll probably set my house on fire or something.” Jack cracks some eggs into a bowl and starts adding all sorts of mysterious ingredients. Rhys watches on, too fascinated to even be indignant about the crack at his cooking skills. His own experiences with cooking mostly involving using his comm to beg Fiona and Sasha for food, and Jack with his sleeves rolled up and whisking the bowl’s contents efficiently is… _well_.

Within minutes, Jack’s sliding a plate stacked with mildly misshapen pancakes over to Angel and Rhys, along with small bowls of syrup and jam.

“Thanks Dad!” Angel chirps, before digging in.

“Wow…thanks, Jack,” Rhys echoes, staring at the pancakes that Jack shoves onto his plate.

“Yeah, go on, take a bite,” Jack cuts a slice off and waves it in front of Rhys’ face. “Tell me how good my cooking is, I await your praise, heh.”

Rolling his eyes, Rhys leans forward and takes the proffered morsel. Involuntarily, his eyebrows shoot up as he chews and swallows.

“Huh, it’s really good,” he says. At Jack’s scowl, he hurries to add, “This is the best pancake I’ve ever tasted, for real!”

Jack grins, and hands him the fork. “Weak, but you can make it up to me tonight. Okay, I’m headed out to…take care of some stuff. See you two later, don’t do anything I wouldn’t!” He unrolls his sleeves, picks up his comm, and heads off.

“Ah, wait!” Rhys drops his fork and jumps off his chair to reach Jack before he reaches the door.

“Hm?” Jack turns. “Ooh, hand me my knife will ya? It’s on the shelf there, not that one, to your left. Wait no, your other left. Your right.”

Rhys backtracks to pick up the knife, and goes to hand it to Jack, holding the knife handle gingerly.

“Aw, Rhysie. Scared of the itty bitty blade?” Jack takes it from Rhys and slips it into his boot, giving Rhys a pat on the cheek in thanks. “Anyway, s’up?”

“I’m not scared of knives! Just, you know. Being careful,” Rhys rubs his palm down his shirt, ignoring Jack’s smirk. “Right, anyway I was wondering, I should probably leave with you? Since Nisha’s coming, you don’t need me to…” He trails off at the scowl on Jack’s face.

“The friggin’ hell d’you need to leave for?” Jack deliberately turns his back on Rhys, going to adjust his cuffs irritably. “Everything you could ever want is in this apartment. There are guards everywhere, you’ll be safe here, good food, entertainment, Angel, _me_. What crappy reason could you possibly have to leave?”

“Well, okay, but I don’t have a comm anymore, Angel says they uh, shot mine…to bits. And Vaughn’s probably worried even though I called him last night, and Fiona and Sasha are expecting us over for lunch, so…” Rhys reaches out tentatively to pat Jack’s back. “I’ll stay if you want me to, just- okay, I’ll call them using Angel’s comm or something. Sorry.”

Turning back, Jack exhales loudly and rolls his eyes before placing heavy hands on Rhys’ shoulders.

“Look, kitten. Honestly, I don’t give a crap about how worried your friends are, but whatever, fine, friendship and sparkles and unicorns and all that crap. They can come over, if you’re all so co-dependent.” The sneer on Jack’s face coupled with an incredibly obnoxious eye roll makes it pretty clear what Jack thinks of “friendship and sparkles and unicorns”. “You can all play Angel’s Bunkers & Badasses game or whatever, _nerds_. Just don’t leave this place, ya hear?”

With a final scoff and a flick to Rhys’ forehead, Jack heads out, not even waiting for Rhys’ response.

Rubbing at his stinging forehead, Rhys turns back to Angel, who’s studiously focused on her plate. As he walks over to the breakfast bar however, he notices that her mouth is trembling.

“Angel? You okay?” He asks, concerned. Behind him, the door clicks shut, and there’s the familiar sound of Jack tapping the door locked.

“Rhys? Did daddy just say we could have people over?” She spins around on her chair as the door lets out its final click. With a start, Rhys realizes that the tremble on her mouth was the prelude to a beaming smile.

A laugh bubbles out of her. “We could play Bunkers & Badasses properly! Oh, _Rhys_ ,” she exhales, and jumps out of her chair to hug him.

Unable to stop himself from smiling at her enthusiasm, Rhys pats her back. “Yeah, we’ll have a proper party, if you like! Oh man, you’re gonna love my friends. Vaughn, well you know Vaughn, I keep talking about him. And Fiona, she’s kinda scary sometimes, but- well. Sasha though! Wait, how about we finish up the pancakes, wash up, and then call them over so you can meet them for yourself?”

Cheering, Angel pulls Rhys back to the breakfast table.

\---

Two very confusing phone calls, a lot of getting yelled at by Fiona, and a minor hiccup where Sasha gets stopped at the building entrance because she refuses to relinquish her gun later, Rhys opens the door to Vaughn, Sasha, and Fiona’s enthusiastically grinning faces.

“So…Handsome Jack, huh?” Fiona says as she walks in. Beside her, Vaughn is boggling at the fancy furniture in the apartment, and behind, Sasha is exchanging unimpressed glares with the bodyguard at the door, who seems bemused.

“Yeah, Rhys, I can’t believe you didn’t tell us the client was _Handsome Jack_.” Sasha finally breaks her stare-off to come in, punching Rhys in the shoulder.

“ _Ow_! C’mon, guys, how could I have told you that?!” Pouting, Rhys shuts the door behind her, locking it with the familiar locking sequence.

“Ooh, did you just lock the door with-,” Vaughn presses a hand against the door. “Rhys, what _even_ is this place?” he breathes out in wonder.

“Oh hey, Angel, right?” Ahead of him, Fiona has spotted Angel, who’s seated in the living room, hands twisting around each other nervously. “Nice to meet you, I’m Fiona, this is Sasha, and there’s Vaughn. And you know that dope on stilts.”

“Hey!”

“Oh my god, is that-,” door forgotten, Vaughn hurries forwards, pushing his glasses up with one hand.

Fiona clears her throat pointedly.

“Oh, right. Sorry. Hi Angel! Nice to finally meet you,” Vaughn comes to a stop near Angel and points down at the Bunkers & Badasses set spread out in front of Angel on the living room table, practically hopping on the spot with excitement. “Is that the 6th edition?! Aw man!! Neat!!”

Angel smiles tentatively, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Yeah, we could- Rhys said you guys like the game, and I was thinking we could all play together, if you want?”

“Do I _ever_!” Vaughn, thrumming with excitement, plops himself down in front of Angel, who seems encouraged by his enthusiasm, and they start setting out the game pieces.

Sasha, who had wandered off to look at the paintings around the living room, is drawn over by Angel and Vaughn’s excitement, but Fiona catches Rhys’ arm, and tugs him gently back towards the breakfast bar.

“Hm?” Rhys glances down, still smiling at the sight of Angel’s beaming smile. Fiona’s gaze is fixed intently on him, and he frowns. “Everything okay?”

“I should be the one asking _you_ that,” Fiona narrows her eyes at him. “Vaughn said you called last night sounding all shifty, and that you were at the museum shootout. And now you’re staying with Jack and- his daughter?” She turns to stare at Angel, eyes still narrowed, but this time in contemplation. “I didn’t know Handsome Jack had a daughter.”

“Yeah…ha, that was a surprise for me too.” Rhys rubs at the back of his head awkwardly.

“Are you okay though, Rhys?” Fiona turns back to Rhys, looking more concerned than he’s ever seen her, barring that time when Vaughn and Rhys’ undergrad theses had both been due within the same week, and she’d had to come over to bodily force them to shower and eat.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Rhys says, bemused, and also somewhat distracted by the sight of Sasha trying to juggle the dice, not very well.

Fiona rolls her eyes at him. “Well, for one, you’ve got a pretty big bruise across half your face, and your lip is bleeding. For the other, _Handsome Jack_ , seriously?!”

Ah, right. Rhys winces. Fiona was…not really the biggest fan of Hyperion, a dislike that understandably extended to its CEO. When she’d first heard that Rhys and Vaughn had gotten internships at Hyperion, she’d given them the stink-eye and said, “You guys are _succumbing_ to the giant capitalist machine!!” She’d been joking, of course, because Fiona’s one true love was in many ways money, but there was probably an undertone of truth to her statement, which Rhys could kind of understand. After all, Fiona had dropped out of school to support herself and Sasha, and even though her various businesses are doing decently well now, she’s had to struggle against giants like Hyperion to get where she is, and Rhys can’t blame her for her feelings against Hyperion.

Wow, it must have been _really_ weird for Fiona when she'd found out about that the mysterious high-paying client was Handsome Jack.

“Well?” Fiona asks, crossing her arms and pointedly tapping her fingers against her biceps.

“Alright, okay. You know how there was a shootout at the museum last night?” Rhys waits for her nod to continue. “Right, so uh, turns out Atlas isn’t entirely gone, and they somehow found out about Jack’s daughter- Angel, and tried to kidnap her when we were on the way to the museum. Which would be where all this,” he gestures at his face, “came from.”

“ _Rhys_!” Fiona smacks him in the arm, right over where Sasha had punched him earlier.

“Ow! What!?” Rhys rubs at his poor abused arm, glowering at Fiona. Unfortunately for him, both Sasha and Fiona have hung out around him long enough that they go straight for the flesh arm.

“I cannot _believe_ you!” Fiona flings her hands up in the air. “And you’re still staying in his apartment? Why aren’t you running for the hills, oh my god, seriously!” She glares at him, and he can’t help but duck his head.

“Well- it’s safer here! Look at all the guards you had to pass on the way up!” Rhys says defensively. “A-and I don’t know, Angel’s really sweet and I don’t wanna just leave her!” _Or Jack_ , he doesn’t say.

Still, mentioning Angel seems to work, because Fiona glances over to where Angel’s giggling at Vaughn’s enthusiastic rendition of the Bunkers & Badasses advertisement jingle, accompanied by Sasha’s much less enthusiastic clapping, and her eyes soften. Angel seems to have that effect on people, Rhys notes.

“Well…she’s a pretty cute kid, I’ll give her that,” Fiona says eventually.

“Yeah, and okay, the reason Jack hired a tutor? Wasn’t really to tutor her, because she’s a genius, but so she could have someone to talk to. She hasn’t really had much contact with people other than Jack and security.” Rhys winces internally at the mildly oblique truth he’s giving Fiona, feeling like a manipulative asshole. But it’s true, in it’s own way.

Unfortunately, Fiona seriously knows him too well. Maybe it’s time he got newer friends.

“You’re using your corporate voice again,” she points out, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, is it working?” Rhys shrugs. He tried.

Before Fiona can reply, the door clatters unlocked, and they both turn to it.

Irrationally, Rhys’ first thought is that it’s the Atlas people, come again with their guns, and he feels adrenaline sweep through his body. His heart thumps frantically, and prickles of sweat form on his palms.

When the door opens though, the woman standing on the other side looks nothing like the Atlas goons from yesterday. For one, she’s wearing what looks like a cowboy hat.

“Nisha!” Angel runs across the living room to the entrance, and the strange woman who could only be the Nisha Jack mentioned earlier, picks her up and spins her around.

“Hey sweetheart, long time no see,” Nisha puts Angel down, and takes off her cowboy hat to place it on Angel’s head. “Heard you had a fun couple of days.” She looks around and quirks an eyebrow. “Who the hell are _you_ guys?” Her eyes catch on Sasha, or more accurately, on the gun across Sasha’s back that had caused all that kerfuffle with security earlier. “You with the sexy gun, you start.”

“Uh…” Sasha looks at Rhys, who shrugs to signal his equal confusion, before turning back to Nisha. “I’m Sasha, one of Rhys’ friends?” She waves awkwardly.

“Ah right. Jack’s Rhys.” Nisha perks up, and looks between Vaughn and Rhys. “You, in Jack’s shorts. Come over here will ya, let me get a look,” she gestures imperiously.

Trying to avoid Fiona’s mouthed “ _Jack’s Rhys_?!” Rhys steps forward, wishing he’d taken the time to comb his hair or change into something more respectable. When he reaches, Nisha uses one finger to tilt his face from side to side, looking him over with a considering hum.

Eventually, she pushes him back, and eyes his bare legs. “A bit banged up, but you'll do. Jack’s always had a thing for the leggy ones with pretty faces.” She winks at Rhys, who tries his best not to gape dumbly at her, before turning back to Angel.

“C’mon Angel, wanna show me this new game Jack says you’ve got?”

\---

“I still don’t get the appeal of this game.” Nisha, hat back on her head, sits back in Jack’s armchair, and frowns past Angel’s shoulder at the Bunkers & Badasses board, where they’re on their second attempt at playing.

(Their first attempt had come to an abrupt halt when Rhys had sneezed and accidentally kicked the table, upsetting the board to loud boos and Vaughn's " _Really_ , bro?!")

She’s been watching their game with judgmental eyes the entire time, making comments like “combat doesn’t work like that in real life!” and “why not just shoot him?” and once, when their characters are trapped in a dungeon, “if you want to try a _real_ dungeon sometime, you should call me”, coupled with a smirk. But mostly it seems done to rile up Angel, who’s comfortably nestled in her lap, because when Angel turns back to the board after a full 5 minutes of lecturing on the mechanics of the game, Nisha winks conspiratorially at Rhys, who’d been watching in amusement.

“Nishaaaaa,” Angel whines.

Laughing, Nisha gets up and puts Angel down into Jack’s armchair. “Alright, alright. Here, I’m going to go get some of your father’s secret stash of chips. Rhys, wanna come with me?” Her glance at Rhys makes it clear that she doesn’t mean it as a suggestion.

“Ah, okay.” Rhys stands up to join her. “You guys continue on without me? Vaughn, you know what to do.”

At Vaughn’s thumbs up, Rhys turns to head over to where Nisha’s leaning against the door to Jack’s rooms, watching him with a narrowed gaze.

As he goes over, he hears Vaughn continue the game.

“Alright, so Rhys’ mage touches a uh, he touches a weird rock that turns out to be a teleporter to another dimension, and Rhys is whooshed off in a flurry of sparks…”

Then he reaches Nisha, who tugs him into Jack’s rooms and closes the door behind Rhys. She’s shorter than him (most people are), despite her height and heels, but somehow Rhys feels like he’s looking up at her.

“Uh, s’up?” He tries awkwardly, when all she does is look him over in silence.

“...Right. We’re not actually looking for Jack’s secret stash of chips, are we?”

“Nah, we’ll get to that later.” Nisha grins at him before backing off and heading into Jack’s bedroom with a casual familiarity that Rhys can’t help but feel a twinge of envy over.

“C’mon, sit beside me, I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.” She sits at the foot of the bed and pats the space beside her. Gingerly, making sure not to brush against her, Rhys does so.

“Aw, are you scared of me? That’s cute.” She leans forward, and pats his cheek, snickering when he takes the cheek patting stoically.

“So. You and Jack, huh?” Nisha asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Um…” Rhys frowns at her. “Why- wait, are you Angel’s _mom_?” The reality that Angel had a mother, and Jack a wife, was something that had honestly never occurred to Rhys beyond Vaughn’s comment about Rhys being the other woman, way back then. But faced with Nisha’s clear familiarity with Jack’s house and Angel, he’s reminded that Angel had to have come from _somewhere_. Although, now that he thinks about it, the way Nisha was interacting with Angel didn’t seem very motherly, but then again, who knew?

He’s brought abruptly out of his speculation when Nisha lets out a peal of laughter, throwing her head back and laughing so hard her hat falls off.

“Angel’s mom, oh that’s a good one! Remind me to tell that to Jack later, Angel’s _mom_ ,” she eventually says, gasping between giggles and wiping at her eyes.

“Glad to have amused you,” Rhys says drily, and hands Nisha her hat from where it’d dropped onto the floor.

“Aw, don’t get all pouty on me, save that for Jack, he’s the one who likes pouty.” Nisha taps a finger against Rhys’ lips, grinning when he flinches. “Seriously though, _no_. Jack and I dated once or maybe thrice a while back, and way after Angel was already born. I’d be insulted that you thought I looked old enough, actually, if I didn’t know another woman who’s had a whole brood of children but doesn’t look a day over thirty.”

She gives Rhys’ mouth one last tap before standing up and looking over the room. “Right, chips. He’s gotta have the good shit in here somewhere…” Spinning around, she heads towards the wall beside the bed’s headboard, and starts knocking on it.

Confused, Rhys stands up to follow her.

“I thought you wanted to talk to me about something?”

“Hm? Oh, right. Nah, I got what I wanted from you without even asking, and a hilarious joke out of it too. I’m good.” A panel of the wall slides away to reveal a small shelf with three bottles in it. “Oh my god, he still has some of the Hodunk stash? That _ass_ , he knew I ran out ages ago!” Scowling, Nisha reaches in to take the bottles out, balancing all three easily in the crook of one arm.

Behind her, Rhys coughs pointedly. Nisha glances over her shoulder at him, sighs and says, “Fine, you can have one if you promise to keep your mouth shut,” and tosses a bottle over her shoulder.

Rhys catches it with only a minimum of fumbling, and sets it down on the desk opposite the bed.

“Right, not really what I was trying to say, actually,” he begins, but is cut off by Nisha pushing him aside to move the bedside table away.

“Aha!” The wall behind the bedside table slides easily away to reveal an entire shelf full of junk food. Crowing in delight, Nisha reaches in and grabs a packet that’s bright red and black.

“Oh, _yes_ , that’s what I’m talking about,” she purrs as she rips the bag open, and pulls out a handful of chips. “Ohhh man, Anshin should just give up on their shields and go into making chips full time, mmph.”

Turning, she catches the skeptical expression on Rhys’ face before he can blank it.

“You doubting me? Here, try it.” She holds the bag out to him. “Barbeque flavored, that’s the stuff.”

Rhys reaches forward, and takes a chip. To his surprise, it’s actually pretty good.

“Why does Jack hide his chips anyway?” He asks, reaching forward for another chip, only to yelp as his hand is smacked away by Nisha.

“Back off, robo-boy, you can get Jack to buy you your own. They’re only manufactured on Eden-4, so he gets them shipped here specially, and keeps them hidden because he’s a selfish, possessive, chips-hoarding _jackass_.” Nisha snorts, and turns back to the hidden stash, putting packet after packet into the SDUs strapped to her thigh, along with the bottles from earlier.

Rhys watches on, unsure if he’s supposed to stop her or something, but also pretty damn sure that he doesn’t have a death wish. He’s still weighing up the pros and cons of saving Jack’s chips stash (Pros: Jack will probably be happy. Cons: Nisha will _definitely_ not be happy) versus just letting Nisha have her way (Pros: Rhys doesn’t get his face shot off by the intimidating looking pistol hanging on the intimidating looking woman. Cons: If Jack finds out Rhys just stood by and watched, Rhys might get his face shot off by Jack. Well, probably not, but Jack definitely wouldn’t be happy, would he?) when the familiar sounds of the front door unlocking make them both turn around.

Before Rhys can head out to check who it is, Jack strides in, bloodier than he’d been at the warehouse, and grinning at Rhys and Nisha with teeth that look startlingly white in the middle of his blood covered mask.

“Nisha! Rhys! Together in my bedroom! I’m pretty sure I’ve had dreams that started out like this, heh.”

Jack sounds…strange. Not entirely his usual jovial self, but not _angry_ or anything, just…weird. Rhys eyes him up and down, frowning.

“Are you alright?” Rhys asks, reaching forwards as Jack approaches to gingerly touch the blood across Jack’s jacket. An odd look flickers over Jack’s face, before the mask goes back to its normal smiling blankness.

“Never better, kitten. Oh, the blood? None of it’s mine, psh, who d’you think I am, c’mon!” Jack scoffs.

“Mm, _Jack_ , if I didn’t know better, I would assume you got yourself bloody just for me,” purring, Nisha steps forward and joins them, one hand going up to curl around Jack’s shoulders.

Rhys glances back at the bedside table as Jack grins at Nisha and his arms go around her waist. There’s no sign of the snack stash, and the bedside table looks like it always did.

“Nisha, always good to see you,” Jack bends down, Nisha tilts her head up, and Rhys watches in mild discomfort as they kiss languorously. He looks away when the tongues appear, and tries his best to subtly edge out of the room.

Before he gets too far though, Jack reaches out and grabs him by the shirt.

“Going somewhere, Rhysie?” He breaks apart from Nisha to turn to stare at Rhys.

“Ah…sorry, I just thought I should go join the others and let you guys…talk?” Rhys points towards the door hopefully.

“Mm, no.” Jack gives Nisha a pat on the ass, which she returns with a wink, and follows up by leaving the room and closing the door behind her, giving Rhys an inscrutable look as she passes by.

Rhys looks after her, then at Jack, confused, but he willingly lets himself be pulled forwards by Jack.

“You jealous of Nisha?” Jack reaches up as if to brush his fingers against Rhys’ cheek, only to stop halfway.

“I honestly can’t tell if you want me to be jealous or not,” Rhys replies, shrugging. Should he be? He has the suspicion that Nisha is the ex Jack mentioned before, the one who likes spanking, but nobody he knows kisses their ex in greeting, or at least, not like _that_.

“Heh, good answer,” Jack evades Rhys’ unspoken question, and pulls him in, arms going around Rhys to press him against Jack’s chest, ignoring Rhys’ grimace and attempt to avoid getting blood smeared on him.

Rhys gives up and just lets Jack maneuver him around, reminding himself that if he has to shower again, at least it’ll be in Jack’s awesome shower. Seriously, there’s like an army of jets and showerheads all from different directions, and like 5 different kinds of conditioner; if Rhys could stay there forever he probably would.

When Jack’s done moving Rhys around to his satisfaction, Rhys is pressed up with his back against the wall, with Jack slumped against him, sticky, bloody face pressed to Rhys’ neck.

This close, the smell of blood, viscera, and gunpowder is almost overwhelming, and Rhys tries not to breathe too deeply, a feat aided by the fact that almost all of Jack’s weight is pressing against him.

They stay there like that for a while, Rhys doing his best to keep as still as possible, despite the _really gross_ feeling of dried blood against his bare legs and the weight and smell. Jack just breathes slowly, heavily, into Rhys’ neck, warm puffs of air almost ticklish against the sensitive skin there. Rhys brings his flesh hand up to pat tentatively at Jack’s back, only to grimace and give up when his hand lands on something warm and squishy that he _really_ doesn’t want to think about.

Finally, Jack sighs forcefully, and lifts his head to press his mouth carefully against Rhys’ jaw.

“Man, I forgot how good you smell,” he says, licking a stripe up the side of Rhys’ face. “Today was just full of the worst, ugliest, smelliest,- ugh, whatever, they’re gone now.”

“They?” Rhys blurts out the question, before realizing, oh right, Atlas. Jack must have spent the entire day…right.

Jack tilts his head to nip at Rhys’ jaw, fortunately on the side that’s not bruised, small stinging bites that have an almost friendly feel to them. “Well. Mostly gone. Man, I killed so _many_ of them today, and they all gave up their friends like, poof, so easy, so _weak_. The way they just-,” his hands come up off Rhys’ hips to gesture vaguely in the air. “Half of them were even bandits, from that crapsack planet. Man, Atlas must be _desperate_ to resort to scum like that, but it’s always fun to watch them scream and run. So many heads blown off, so many…haah-”

That last part is coupled with a groan, and a- is Jack _humping_ Rhys?!

“Um, are you-,” Rhys cranes his head to the side to try and get a better look, but his question is answered when Jack thrusts again, exhaling a stuttered moan.

“Mmph, just- just stay there for a bit, kitten, lemme,” Jack takes Rhys’ wrists and brings them up, pinning them above Rhys’ head, all the while grinding his erection against Rhys’ thigh.

Despite (or maybe because of?) the smell and the tacky feeling of dried blood sticking to his skin in various places, Rhys finds himself hardening too. He clenches his flesh hand, testing Jack’s grip, and when Jack’s only response is to tighten his hold and thrust harder, he lets out a groan of his own, and thrusts back.

“Yeah- that’s it, c’mon,” Jack grunts, bringing his head up to kiss Rhys, hard enough that the cut on Rhys’ lip splits open again, and everything tastes like blood. When Jack pulls away, there’s a feral grin on his face, and fresh blood on his lips that can only be Rhys’, and Rhys can’t help but lean forward to taste, curious.

“ _Knew_ you’d catch on quick.” Jack shifts his grip so that he’s holding both of Rhys’ wrists in one hand, and his other hand goes to undo his pants, tearing at the fly hastily.

Rhys watches breathlessly as Jack pulls out his dick, already fully hard and leaking. At the sight, Rhys can’t help but lick his lips, and the sting as his tongue passes over the cut only makes things better.

Jack’s hand on his own dick is fast and rough, and it doesn’t take long before he’s exhaling loudly, and coming all over Rhys’ blood smeared t-shirt, eyes fixed on where Rhys’ own hard-on presses up against his shorts.

When he’s done, he slumps against Rhys, who presses his face into Jack’s surprisingly clean hair, flexing his hands against Jack’s grip, and waits none too patiently for Jack to recover.

Eventually, _finally_ , Jack lifts his head, and looks Rhys in the eye. “I’m gonna let go of your wrists now, but I want you to keep your hands up there. Can you do that for me?”

Rhys nods, almost frantically, and Jack gives him a smirk before letting go, pointing at Rhys’ wrists warningly. Rhys obediently keeps his hands up, pressed against the wall, and watches as Jack goes to pull Rhys’ cock out of his shorts and starts tugging on it carelessly, other hand going up to cover Rhys’ mouth.

“You’re kinda noisy when you come, kitten. Don’t get me wrong, I like it, very much, but Angel’s out there, and so are your friends, and I wouldn’t put it past Nisha to be waiting right outside, bless that woman’s shamelessness.” Jack’s palm presses slowly down on the lower half of Rhys’ face, and he gives Rhys a questioning look. At Rhys’ enthusiastic nod, he grins, and presses down harder.

“Oh Rhysie, if you could see yourself now,” Jack hums, his hand on Rhys’ dick never letting up its fast, sloppy pace. “You have no idea how _pretty_ you are like this, wearing my shorts, blood of some useless skag-fodder smeared all over you. It’s a good look, trust me.”

Rhys groans into Jack’s hand, feeling so close to the edge, not even ashamed of how fast it took. His eyes slip shut as he tries to focus on the feeling of Jack’s hands, pressing against his mouth, and moving on his dick.

“No!” Rhys’ eyes snap open at Jack’s bark. “Keep your eyes on _me_ , kitten, there’s a good boy.” A muffled sound comes out of Rhys’ mouth involuntarily at the praise, loud even through the hand over his mouth, and he flushes, embarrassed at his own eagerness.

“Yes, that’s it, c’mon,” Jack’s hand picks up its pace, and he leans forward to press his forehead against Rhys’, mismatched eyes flicking between mismatched eyes. “God, you’re beautiful like this, so eager, such a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

At that, Rhys comes with a strangled sound, arching up into Jack’s grip and then slumping against the wall, panting.

Grinning, Jack licks at his hand before wiping it down Rhys’ shirt and tucking himself back into his pants.

“Thanks for that, pumpkin. No better way to end a stressful day, heh. I’m gonna head back out now, buuut you might wanna shower before you come out though, you know where my closet is.” He leers at Rhys, “Or don’t, up to you.”

He reaches up to tug Rhys’ hands slowly down from where Rhys had unconsciously kept them up the whole time, lifting Rhys’ flesh hand up to give it a kiss on the knuckle, blood on his mask smearing everywhere.

“Before I go though. Tonight, after everyone’s gone, and Angel’s asleep. Let me- will you let me spank you?”

Still half dazed from his orgasm, Rhys blinks blearily at Jack.

“Huh?”

“Spanking, kitten. I wanna see your pretty ass all red and your face all teary, make my night, c’mon,” Jack bites down gently on Rhys’ fingers, eyes fixed on Rhys'.

“I-I’m not sure I’m gonna be able to come again anytime in the next day or so though,” Rhys admits, flushing under Jack’s scrutiny. “But yeah, sure, if you want? I mean, I wouldn’t mind…” He trails off, trying not to look too excited at the prospect.

“That a challenge?” Jack raises his eyebrows, grinning. “Also wow, very nice show of reluctance, cupcake, I’d almost believe it if I hadn’t seen you practically come just at the idea before. Alright then! You versus me, later tonight. I look forward to it.” Winking and tossing finger guns at Rhys, he drops Rhys’ hand and saunters out of the rooms, looking more like his usual self than Rhys has seen him since the entire museum thing.

Slumping against the wall, Rhys lets out a wavering sigh of contentment, before getting up to shower. When he gets a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, he thanks his lucky stars that Jack hadn’t thought it would be funny to send him out there without showering, because there’s blood smeared _all over_ him, and a disturbing mix of come and yet more blood all over his front. Grimacing, he strips the shirt off, and goes to shower.

\---

When Rhys emerges from Jack’s rooms, freshly scrubbed of blood and in yet another set of Jack’s clothing, it's to the sight of Jack lounging in his armchair, still bloody, and giving the ongoing Bunkers & Badasses game an incredibly judgmental look.

In front of him, Vaughn is making a valiant effort at his Bunker Master duties, despite his cracking voice and fearful glances at Jack’s bloodstained presence. Fiona seems determined to ignore Jack entirely, and is firmly engaging Angel in a conversation on where their characters should explore next. Weirdly enough, Sasha seems perfectly comfortable, deep in conversation with Nisha over Nisha’s pistol, and only barely paying attention to the game.

As Rhys draws nearer, he hears Sasha sigh wistfully.

“I’ve always wanted a Vladof gun. Too bad they don’t make SMGs, but damn, imagine that.”

“Mm, pistols are where it’s at though, the kills just feel so much more…” Nisha trails off as Rhys reaches them. “Well don’t _you_ look all clean and nice?” The smirk on her face is identical to the one on Jack’s face as he turns to take Rhys in.

“Oh, Rhys, you went to shower?” Angel looks up from the game to beam at him. “The boss fight’s coming up, join us!”

“Yeah Rhys, join us,” echoes Vaughn, who looks weirdly terrified for the relatively unterrifying situation. When Rhys glances over at Jack, he sees that Jack’s giving Vaughn a contemplative look, one hand rubbing absently at the gun in his holster. Rolling his eyes, Rhys goes over, making sure to prod Jack’s foot as he passes. Jack glances up at him, face holding its threatening non-expression for one long second before it breaks out into a grin.

“Jack, you joining us?” Rhys asks, casually moving so that Vaughn is blocked entirely from Jack’s view by Rhys’ body, and trying not to laugh at Vaughn’s slumping in relief. It’s not like he can tell Vaughn that Jack’s just posturing, not in front of Jack anyway. Maybe later.

“Nah, I’m just here to watch the nerds.” Jack replies, ignoring the scowl that both Angel and Rhys toss his way to lean over and high-five Nisha.

It doesn’t take long before the boss fight is finished; neither Vaughn nor Fiona seem particularly enthused about spending time in Jack’s presence, despite Rhys and Angel’s attempt to keep things going.

“So…we should probably head back,” Vaughn says, giving the board one last wistful glance. “Thanks for letting us play with you, Angel.”

“No problem!” Angel chirps cheerfully. “You should come over to play again sometime, if uh.” She glances over at where Jack’s now at the breakfast bar, digging around for something, and lowers her voice. “I’ll see if I can convince my dad or something. You’re a cool dude,” she smiles brightly at Vaughn, who turns bright red and rubs at his neck awkwardly before turning to Rhys.

“Bro, you uh, you coming back with us?”

“Ah…” Rhys glances up to where Jack’s now watching their conversation intensely. When Rhys catches Jack’s eye, Jack raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, bro, I think I’m gonna stay here a bit longer? I’ll be back soon though, I promise.” He leans forward to give Vaughn a hug.

When he does the same to Sasha and Fiona, Fiona whispers in his ear, “Rhys…be _careful_ , that man’s dangerous,” before letting him go, a frown etched on her face.

Rhys nods uncomfortably, trying not to think about how that danger is part of the appeal, if he’s being honest with himself.

He waves them off at the door, and turns back to see Jack waving a take-out menu.  
“Dibs on the noodles,” Nisha calls from where she’s lounging across the sofa in the living room.

“I thought you could cook,” Rhys comments as he heads over to take a look at the menu.

“Nah, too lazy.” Jack tosses the menu at Rhys’ face, cackling when it smacks Rhys in the chest.

“Is Nisha staying for…after?” Rhys flips through the menu, trying to look like he hasn’t been thinking about Jack’s words all evening.

“Why, you want her to?” Jack narrows his eyes at Rhys.

“No- I mean, she’s very nice,” Rhys ploughs on past Jack’s snorted “ _Nice_?!” to continue. “But I dunno. I was kinda hopingforjustyou,” he says it as fast as he can, feeling kind of presumptuous for even thinking it.

Jack stares at Rhys for one long moment, gaze heavy and contemplative, before he says “Good.” and turns away to call for food.

\---

After dinner, which is an animated affair mostly because Jack and Nisha get into an argument about the best way to kill a thresher that eventually devolves into an arm-wrestling match to determine the winner (Jack wins, but barely), Nisha takes her leave, pointing at the take-out containers and saying “Nope” before exiting, stopping only to give Angel a kiss goodbye.

Rhys volunteers to clean up the living room while Jack puts Angel to bed, feeling a twinge of déjà vu at the situation. A feeling which Jack probably feels too, going by the way he frowns faintly as he ushers Angel off to clean up.

When Rhys is done, Jack’s still in Angel’s room, so Rhys goes over to say goodnight to Angel as well.

When he opens the door however, something about the way Jack is bent over Angel makes him pause and step back to linger in the doorway.

“- I’ve done was to protect _you_. The people I killed? They were bandits, bad people, out to wreak havoc on the peace I’ve created with Hyperion. You have _nothing_ to worry about, I’m gonna make sure nobody ever gets to hurt you, you’ll-,” Rhys shuts the door as quietly as he can, and retreats to the living room.

Rhys goes to sit on the sofa, staring at Jack’s armchair as he thinks things over. He’s not entirely convinced that murdering almost all of Atlas was the way to go, but at the same time he finds it hard to argue with Jack’s reasoning. They did try to kidnap an innocent girl, just to get back at Jack for dissolving their company, which had been a pretty shitty company anyway. Rhys still remembers the news broadcasts on the terrible conditions that Atlas had left Promethea in, aired after Atlas had fallen and people could actually bring screens and comms onto the starved planet to document its condition. He shudders at the memory of the scorched landscapes.

“Rhys?”

Looking up, Rhys catches sight of Jack, stepping out of the door to Angel’s rooms, giving Rhys a questioning look.

“Hm?” Rhys stands up. “Oh, there’s blood on your armchair by the way.” Rhys points the rusty stains out.

“Yeah yeah, whatever, someone’s coming in tomorrow to clean the place anyway,” Jack waves his hand dismissively. “You coming? Heh, see what I did there?” He grins and goes over to pull Rhys up.

“Ha, funny. I’m gonna say goodnight to Angel first. See you in your rooms later? Also um. You might wanna clean up. The smell, it’s just-,” Rhys shrugs apologetically.

“You didn’t seem to mind it earlier,” Jack points out, and then he sniffs his own jacket. “Ho-oly hell, that smells _awful_. God, I can’t believe you got turned on by this earlier, what the hell, kitten, that is _disgusting_.”

Rhys sniffs at the jacket, grimacing. “Okay, it definitely wasn’t this bad earlier. I think something may be…rotting, eurgh.”

They exchange a look, and without a word, Jack turns to stalk into his rooms. Trying not to laugh at the offended line of Jack’s shoulders, Rhys goes to say goodnight to Angel.

When he taps at the door softly, it opens by itself, and Angel looks up from where she’s curled in bed.

“Rhys?”

“Hey, sorry, did I wake you? Just came in to say goodnight.”

“It’s okay. You’re staying with daddy tonight?” She sits up, and pats at the bed beside her.

“Kinda. You okay with that?” Rhys sits beside her.

Angel shrugs, and leans so that her head is resting on Rhys’ shoulder. “I’ve got bunny and bug,” she holds them up in turn.

Rhys hums, and pets their heads before going to stroke his hand through her hair.

“Vaughn’s nice. Sasha and Fiona too.” Angel wriggles a bit until he’s petting a slightly different patch of hair.

“Yeah, they’re tolerable.” Rhys waves his robotic hand in an “eh” kind of way, and Angel snickers.

“D’you think daddy will let them come over more often? With you on Saturdays or something?”

“Angel, are you getting bored of me?” Rhys gasps dramatically. “Oh the horror, the betrayal-,” he cuts himself off with a squawk when Angel goes to tickle him, laughing.

They eventually subside, lying on the bed beside each other and staring up at the ceiling, with its projected star chart.

“Rhys?”

“Yeah, Angel?” Rhys turns to face Angel, who continues staring up.

She doesn’t respond for a very long while.

“…Never mind.” Angel eventually says, and sighs. “You should go back to dad. See you tomorrow, Rhys.” She turns around to give him a fond look before pushing him off her bed, giggling when he makes no move to get off the floor and merely scowls up at her.

“If we both ask him nicely, he might let them come over.” Rhys says when he eventually gets up. “Maybe not every week, but once in a while? No harm trying, right?” He bends down to tuck Angel in.

“No harm trying," Angel echoes, and then yawns. “Goodnight, Rhys.”

“Goodnight, Angel.”

\---

When Rhys closes the door to Jack’s rooms behind him, Jack’s nowhere to be seen, but he can hear water sounds from the bathroom. He walks over to the bedroom to wait for Jack, trepidation and anticipation prickling through his nerves and making him more jittery than normal.

As he walks into the bedroom, his eye catches on several strips of cloth laid out at the foot of the bed. Going over, he picks one up and runs it through his fingers. It’s made of some soft material with a little bit of give, silky and smooth to the touch. Each piece is about the width of two of his fingers, and his echo eye confirms that four of the five are exactly one meter long, with the last one shorter than the rest at 70cm. The deep red color of the strips that makes them stand out on the predictably yellow sheets seems wholly unlike Jack, and Rhys rubs at the strip in his hand, wondering why Jack had placed them here. And he must have; the strips hadn't been here earlier in the afternoon.

“Ah, you're back,” Jack comes up from behind Rhys to stand beside him, shirtless and scrubbing at his hair with a towel. “Figured out what they're for yet?” He reaches down to pick one up, flicking the end at Rhys.

“Um...I was guessing blindfold, but there are 5 of them and,” Rhys holds the strip in his hand up to the lights. “They're kinda sheer for blindfolds, aren't they?”

“Mm, close, but not quite.” Jack sits on the bed and beckons Rhys over to stand between his spread knees. When Rhys does so, he takes Rhys' flesh hand, and wraps the strip he's holding round Rhys' wrist, then grins wickedly up at him. “Got it?”

Rhys lets out a shaky laugh, and says, “Okay, so four are for my wrists and…ankles?” At Jack's nod, he continues. “The last one…” he swallows, and brings the hand Jack isn't holding up to rub at his throat.

“ _Very_ good, kitten.” Jack's voice is warm and the gleam in his eyes makes something deep inside Rhys curl up and shiver.

Keeping his voice as steady as he can, Rhys holds up the one in his hand and says, “Color doesn't seem much like you though.”

At that, Jack lets out a huff of laughter. “Nisha brought them over for me. She picked the color out, even though I told her you look _great_ in yellow.”

Rhys raises an eyebrow at that, because _nobody _looks good in that eye-watering shade that Jack seems so fond of. Not even Jack. But he doesn't say it.__

“Still,” Jack gives the cloth around Rhys' wrist a considering look. “Not bad, it'll do. Almost the same shade as the color you bruise, I'll give Nisha that. She's always had an eye for that kinda thing.” He gives the strip one last contemplative glance before pulling it off Rhys' wrist, and picking up the rest to toss them all towards the bedside table.

“That's for another day though, and only if you've been _very_ good. Now,” he pulls Rhys towards him by the hips and rests his chin on Rhys' stomach to grin up at him, anticipatory delight written in every line of his face. “What was that about you not being able to come again tonight?”

\---

The next morning, Rhys is jarred rudely out of sleep by an _incredibly obnoxious_ sound.

“Wh- bwuh?” He says blearily, raising his head. When he forces his eyes to open as much as they can, he's greeted by the sight of a bright yellow monstrosity next to the bed, and he closes his eyes, sure this is some kind of nightmare.

“Gooooooood _morning_ , sunshines! It's a bright and lovely day, up and at 'em!” The cheerfully obnoxious voice continues on mercilessly, despite Rhys' attempt to deny its existence.

Behind Rhys, there's a grunting sound, and he opens his eyes as the bed dips a bit and a pillow flies out to hit the yellow creature in its eye.

“ _Ow_! That was completely unnecessary, and totally hurt my feelings! It's almost like you don't appreciate me! Every morning it's _Claptrap go away_ , or _Claptrap, I'm gonna rip your eye out, and give it to the loader bots to play with_ , or _Claptrap, I order you to send yourself to Pandora and never come back _.”__

At that, Rhys can't help but snicker into the pillow. The robotic voice's imitation of Jack's voice is uncannily accurate, despite the robotic quality to it.

“Aha! At last, someone who appreciates my wit and humor!”

Oh no.

“ _Rhys_ …”

Sitting up hastily, Rhys says, “I wasn't laughing!”

Beside him, Jack is sprawled across the bed, stark naked with an arm flung across his face. Um. Rhys looks down to see that the somehow he's twisted both blankets around himself at some point in the night. As subtly as possible, he tries to unwind the one around his knees to nudge it over to the middle of the bed.

“Nice try, blanket hog,” Jack says without even removing his arm from his face. “Rhysie, cupcake, kitten, light of my life. Do me a favor and toss that idiotic robot out of the window, will ya?”

“No! Rhys, my new best friend, don't do that!” The robot wheels backwards, hands raised up.

Jack groans, long and low, before snarling, “Just…get it out of here.”

“Yeah um, Claptrap right? Can you hand me those shorts and that shirt, from over there? Thanks. And uh, turn around? Right.” Rhys pulls on the clothes that Claptrap hands to him with a long blink of its single eye (Rhys thinks it might be an attempt at a wink) and ushers the robot out.

At the entrance to the bedroom, he pauses and turns back. Jack's still lying there, shamelessly and gloriously naked, arm still pressed over his face.

“Go on out first, kitten. I'll be out in a bit,” Jack says, and his arm moves a bit.

Rhys frowns; something about the bit of chin now exposed looks strange. Then he realizes that the clasp of the mask is missing, and that Jack is probably waiting for him to get out so he can put his mask back on.

Rhys closes the door behind him quietly.

\---

Outside, the Claptrap unit is currently spinning excitedly around Angel, who's seated at the breakfast bar eating cereal.

Eyeing the hard stools at the breakfast bar with trepidation, Rhys goes to stand beside Angel.

“Sleep well?” He asks.

She nods, and offers him a spoonful of something that looks obnoxiously healthy, which he declines.

Jack eventually comes out of his rooms, mask in place and dressed for work. Rhys gives him a distracted smile before turning back to where Angel is teasing Claptrap, laughing when the robot squawks unattractively at Angel's assertion that its “hard drive has been looking a little rusty lately.”

He's abruptly reminded of Jack's presence when a familiar hand runs down his back and lands a stinging slap across his butt, across a _very_ tender area.

Rhys holds in a yell with what he feels is incredible stoicism, gritting his teeth and turning to glare at Jack, who's watching his face with glee.

“Everything alright, Rhys?” Angel turns to him, concerned. “You're gripping the table awfully hard.”

“Yeah cupcake, everything alright?” Jack's voice is saccharine sweet, and Rhys has to remind himself that Jack had made him come twice last night to keep himself from saying something stupid.

“I'm fine, Angel, don't worry.” He forces out a smile, which mustn't look very convincing because Angel turns to her father, frowning suspiciously.

“Dad, did you do something to Rhys?”

“Nothing he didn't ask for, sweetheart, don't worry,” Jack assures her, smirking at Rhys' flush.

“Right...Oh, are you both going in to work today?”

“Ah right, I was gonna ask if you could drop me off at home on the way there? I need to get clothes and stuff,” Rhys plucks at the shirt he's wearing.

Jack opens his mouth, a frown on his face, but when Rhys raises an eyebrow in question, Jack harrumphs and says, “Yeah, whatever. C'mon then, I need to be in the office early to clear up some stuff.” He grimaces. “You will not _believe_ the amount of paperwork there is in tearing down a bandit-infested, mostly-defunct corporation.”

“Huh,” Rhys says contemplatively.

“What's that, pumpkin?” Jack turns to him. “Okay wait, if you’re coming, continue this in the car, I'm gonna be late.”

\---

“It's just- what's the paperwork even _for_?” Fidgeting to get into a comfortable position, even on the plush seats of the car, Rhys turns to Jack, who's now tapping at his comm with an irritated expression on his face. “Filling in forms for each bandit killed?” Amazing how the more you repeat that the less impact it seemed to have.

“Hm?” Jack looks up. “Oh, nah more like, estimated value of information obtained from the exercise, how news of this will affect Hyperion's stocks, _should_ we let news of it leak, details, that kinda thing. Why, interested, pumpkin?” He raises a quizzical eyebrow at Rhys.

“Ah, I'm good with sticking to coding and stuff for now,” Rhys says hurriedly, adjusting to lean more on his left flank. “Just curious, is all. I've always wondered what went on at the higher levels of Hyperion, figured I'd ask.”

“Alright, _nerd_.” Jack scoffs, and turns back to his screen, and Rhys thinks that's the end of that conversation.

“You know, you wouldn't be out of place there.” When Jack speaks up a while later, his voice is casual, so casual that Rhys almost doesn't catch what he's saying, too distracted by the throbbing in the backs of his upper thighs.

“Sorry?”

“Upper management.” Jack turns to face Rhys. “Okay, why are you- you’re fidgeting more than norma- oh. Right.” He leers at Rhys.

“Man, sitting at the desk all day is really gonna _suck_ ,” Rhys mutters, shifting again and wincing.

“Mm, fun for me though,” Jack sighs happily. “Just knowing you’re gonna be squirming in your seat all day, ah pumpkin. You bring such light into my life.”

Scowling, Rhys adjusts again. Maybe telling Jack that _yes, he can handle five more, please don’t stop _last night hadn’t been the best idea.__

“Aw, Rhysie. C’mere, lean over. You should’ve said something last night, I have a cream thing, use it for m- well, it’s in the bathroom at home.” Jack shifts and pulls Rhys over so that he’s lying across the seat on his front, head and shoulders in Jack’s lap and legs curled off the seat.

“I didn’t think it would be this bad…It wasn’t this bad last night!” Rhys gives up and whines, rubbing his face against Jack’s knee. Normally this would be really embarrassing, but his ass hurts _so much_ and he doesn’t want to think about how he’s gonna have to sit at a desk all day and do work, ha ha fun.

“Eh, nah it’s my bad too. Should’ve known you’d bite off more than you can chew,” Jack’s hand smooths down Rhys’ back. It feels nice, and Rhys closes his eyes, enjoying the sensation. Neither of them had had much sleep last night, for obvious reasons, and Rhys has no idea how Jack’s so energetic right now. Okay, probably a combination of caffeine and uppers, knowing Jack, but _still_.

Abruptly, his shorts get lifted up, letting in a rush of cool air over the poor abused skin of his ass. He yelps at the sensation, lifting his head, only to get it pressed back down.

“Shh, just lemme see,” Jack moves the elastic of Rhys’ shorts down, holding it there with one hand. The hand on Rhys’ head moves to carefully prod at the skin there, eliciting a hiss from Rhys.

“How about you stay at home today, huh? Or go back to the penthouse, spend some time with Angel,” Jack leans forward and starts ruffling through the car’s console. “Aha, I knew I had some stashed away here somewhere,” he pulls out a small tube of hand cream.

“Okay first of all, isn’t this car new, why do you have hand cream in here already? And second,” Rhys wriggles into a position from where he can see Jack’s face. “My internship ends in a month, and I’ve managed to do all my work in time, even with Vasquez’s attempt at sabotage, and the other day Quinn even gave me a nod and said “good job”, so I think I’ve been doing pretty decently, and I wanna keep it that way, okay?”

He searches Jack’s face for any sign of a reaction, but Jack just glances down at him once before squeezing some hand lotion out and reaching to apply it onto Rhys’ butt.

“Ah, that’s cold,” Rhys jerks in surprise at the first touch, but the cooling sensation soon becomes soothing, and he slumps down in relief.

“Not the best thing, but it’ll do for now.” Jack puts the cap back on and lifts Rhys’ shorts back into place. One faintly greasy hand goes up under Rhys’ shirt to pet him there. “You do know I’m like, the big boss, right. If I say you get a day off, you get a day off, no biggie.”

“No,” Rhys scowls up at Jack. “I don’t want any special favors, and anyway people at work are already giving me weird looks, so please just-,” he squeezes Jack’s knee pleadingly. “Let me handle my internship on my own, okay?”

To his relief, Jack just heaves a huge sigh and rolls his eyes, thudding his head into the back of the seat. “God, fine, whatever, you’re an independent intern who don’t need no yadda yadda.” Still, his hands, large and warm, continue petting down Rhys’ back.

It doesn’t take long before the car is drawing to a halt in front of Rhys’ building, and he sits up awkwardly to get out, not at all helped by Jack, who’s taken to leaning his screen on the back of Rhys’ head and commenting that Rhys is the prettiest screen-rest he’s ever had.

The apartment is empty when he unlocks the door, and a glance at the clock in the living room reminds him that he’s probably going to be late for work. He takes the quickest shower of his life, and goes back down as fast as he can to find Jack’s car still idling on the sidewalk, to his relief.

“Thanks for waiting!” He shoves a candy bar into Jack's hands, and closes the door behind him. “I didn't see you eat breakfast this morning, so- here.”

He rips open the packaging on his own bar and wolfs it down as the car begins to move. It takes him a while to notice that Jack hasn't opened his, and is instead giving Rhys the oddest stare.

“Oh. Um, sorry, it's nothing fancy or anything, you don't have to eat it,” Rhys reaches forward apologetically to take the bar back, berating himself for thinking that someone like Jack would eat his crappy over-processed food. Come _on_ , Rhys, Jack's the kind of person who actually makes his own breakfast and stuff, seriously.

“No,” Jack breaks his stare off to smack Rhys' hand away, and tucks the candy bar into his jacket. "Too bad, you gave it to me already, no takebacks."

Taking his hand back, Rhys takes another bite of his bar and says while chewing, “Alright, keep your pants on,” relishing the look of distaste on Jack's face when he gets a glimpse of the half-chewed food.

“That's _disgusting_ , I can't believe I let you kiss me with that mouth, eurgh,” Jack reaches forwards and pushes Rhys’ face away, cackling when Rhys accidentally leans too far back to avoid Jack’s hand and ends up yelping in pain.

\---

After a torturous morning of taking regular breaks to the toilet or to the coffee machine, Rhys returns from lunch with Vaughn (thankfully oblivious to Rhys’ fidgetiness) and Yvette (not so oblivious, and _wow_ , Rhys really isn’t looking forward to that conversation), to see a rather large box on his desk.

Inside is a soft cushion, along with a small, unmarked tub of cream that looks and smells expensive, and a crudely drawn picture of a stick figure with two red circles for a butt giving a blowjob to another stick figure with a familiar mask and an improbably large dick, signed with a H.J. and yet another dick.

\---

The last four weeks of the Hyperion internships fly by quickly in a flurry of finishing up projects and finalizing the proposals for their masters theses, and soon, Rhys and Vaughn are back in school with Hyperion’s name on their CVs and glowing recommendations from their respective superiors.

Rhys would suspect Jack of having a hand in his, if he had less faith in his own work, and if he thought Jack actually knew who Rhys’ boss was. As it is, he’s pretty confident in his own skills, and anytime Rhys mentions Quinn to Jack, Jack looks confused and asks, “Who the crap is that?”, so.

Rhys now spends his weekends at the penthouse. He and Vaughn go over on Saturday to spend time with Angel, and when Jack comes back in the evening, Vaughn makes his excuses and leaves. Rhys stays the night, sometimes two nights, if Jack’s being particularly cranky, and gets breakfast _and_ great sex out of it.

When the due date for his thesis comes up, Rhys starts bringing his work to the penthouse on weekdays, because Jack made the mistake of saying “You can use my coffee machine whenever” once, and Rhys now shamelessly takes literal advantage of the offer, because _free coffee_. Free coffee that’s _really good_.

Also, Angel sometimes helps him look over his project, a prototype for an embedded dataport that will give the user direct access between their brain and any compatible device, translating biological neural output to readable data, and vice versa. She’s the one who points out that a port placed on the temple would give more direct access to the brain, versus the spinal port that Rhys had been working on.

The idea of reworking all his data almost caused Rhys to break down, but then he’d picked himself up, stayed at the penthouse's breakfast bar for 8 days straight, and got an entirely reworked set of data and a prototype that was ten times better than the original, so it all works out.

Jack’s presence is…well. Surprisingly, also actually helpful. Generally caustic and casually dismissive of Rhys’ work, but he’s the one who silently starts putting coffee in front of Rhys’ on the 4th day of his streak, and the one who bodily wrestles him into bed on the 8th and the one who sucks him off when Rhys admits he doesn’t know if he can fall asleep anymore.

(It works. Rhys falls asleep right after coming, and wakes up two days later to find “Handsome Jack is the smartest most handsomest man alive and I, Rhys, should never ever bet against him when it comes to anything, especially sex” on a note stuck to his chest.)

On Rhys’ birthday, Vaughn books the bar at Janey’s, using a favor apparently owed him when he’d helped Janey and Athena with an accounting problem at their bar, and the whole gang troops down to drink in _style_.

Well, most of them. Janey refuses to rescind her one-alcoholic-drink policy for Rhys, but she makes up for it by giving him free flow of some fruity mix that tastes like what Rhys thinks rainbows might be made of. Man, he’s never drinking that yellow drink again, not when he’s got _this_.

Jack even makes an effort to drop by, and Rhys steadfastly ignores the raised eyebrows around as he waves Jack over to where Rhys has camped out at the bar for maximum friend-watching potential.

“You made it!” He grins up at Jack, fuelled by the sweet drinks and the warm conversations around him, familiar, friendly arguments in familiar, friendly voices.

Rhys has been watching Fiona and Janey take turns to flirt at Athena all evening, and he’s thoroughly enjoying the sight of Athena, normally so intimidating, flushed and ducking her head in embarrassment.

“Yep, can’t stay long though. Angel wanted me to pass you this,” Jack tosses a small datastick at Rhys, and slides onto the stool next to Rhys.

“Oh, thanks! Wait, I’m gonna call her now to thank her, gimme a sec-,” Rhys takes out his comm and calls her, calling up the video function that’s now standard issue across comm brands, after Hyperion’s pioneering model had proven so popular.

“I still cannot _believe_ you won’t let me just get you a proper Hyperion comm,” Jack grumbles, but Angel’s face popping up on the screen between them cuts him off.

“Happy birthday Rhys!”

“Thanks, Angel! Your dad just dropped by with your present, and I just wanted to thank you,” Rhys turns the comm so that Jack can say hi, and then turns it back to himself.

“Oh wait, Vaughn wants to say hi too.” Rhys holds up the comm so that Vaughn, across the bar beating the crap out of August at pool, can be seen by Angel.

“Hi Angel!!” Vaughn yells, waving madly.

When Rhys brings the screen back down to eye-level, Angel is smiling almost wistfully, though it soon turns bright when she sees Rhys.

“Anyway, Rhys!” Angel chirps before Rhys can say anything. Which is lucky, because he doesn’t really know what he could say.

Jack’s overprotectiveness after the museum incident is _finally_ going back to relatively normal levels, which for him means two guards per floor, but still no outings yet, and Rhys’ attempts to gently suggest that Angel might be feeling cooped up have yet to work, but he’s hopeful.

Angel’s next words pull him out of his contemplation of Jack, who’s ordered a double shot of whiskey, and is now tapping absently at the bar while waiting.

“It’s meant for your arm! The datastick, that is. The program _should_ allow you to project more detailed things from your palm now, and I’ve put in the constellation map from my room for a start, the one you said you liked?” Angel tucks her hair behind her ears nervously.

“Aw man, Angel, that’s _awesome_ , thank you so much,” Rhys beams at her, and uncaps the datastick to stick it into the port at his wrist. The program doesn’t take long to set up, and he’s soon throwing a projection of the constellations up onto the ceiling of the bar to the oohs and ahhs of the people around them.

“Ah, it looks so nice…” Rhys tilts the screen up so that Angel can see.

“I’m glad you like it!” She grins at him. “Okay, I’ll let you go back to your party now. Wilhelm’s finally getting the hang of Go Fish, _finally_.” She rolls her eyes at someone off-screen, presumably Wilhelm. “Enjoy yourself!! Say bye to dad for me!” The screen blips off, and Rhys puts his comm back in his pocket, sighing happily.

“Did she code the program up herself?” He turns to ask Jack, who’s now sipping at his whiskey and watching Rhys with that odd look that Rhys is beginning to think might be fondness, if he lets himself be hopeful.

“Yep. Well, I helped. A bit.”

“Well then, I guess I should thank you too,” Rhys touches Jack’s wrist tattoo with two fingers, tracing the familiar lines. “Thanks, Jack.”

Jack’s eyes go down to their hands, lingering on the faint bruises on Rhys’ wrist from their fun experiment last week. “No worries, I’m sure you’ll find _some_ way to make up for it,” he winks at Rhys, who coughs and looks away for a distraction.

“Oh right, by the way, look what Yvette got me!” Rhys turns around before spotting it under Sasha's present of ludicrously colored socks that, joke's on her, Rhys is totally in love with. He grabs it and turns back to Jack, who raises his eyebrows at it.

“Nice stick.”

“It's a baton! Look how cool-,” Rhys presses the button on it, and it pops to his full length, barely missing Jack's chest by an inch.

“Woah-ho-hey there pumpkin. No need to prod me with your stick, I see it, I see it.” Jack gives Rhys an exaggerated frown.

“Hah, funny. She said it was in case any more museum incidents happen. Should be useful, right?” Rhys waves it back and forth experimentally.

“Not against a _gun_ , nope. Still, you probably won’t shoot your own foot off with this, so hey.” Jack takes the baton and flips it over in his hand with an easy familiarity. “Oh. Huh, I used to have one of these, one of the older models. Pretty fun stuff.”

“Let me guess, but your model was bigger,” Rhys says drily, watching as Jack retracts the baton to pop it back out again.

“You should know, pumpkin, you were all up and close with it last week,” Jack returns the baton to Rhys with a wink.

“Anyway, I gotta go, but before I do…” Jack reaches into his jacket to take out a small, flat box, and slides it over to Rhys. “Open this later tonight, when you’re on your own. Happy birthday, cupcake.”

Ignoring Rhys’ embarrassed hiss of “Jack! This better not be anything- _Jack_!!”, Jack saunters out, waving Rhys off casually.

\---

Later that night, too full from chocolate cake and pleasantly tired from spending quality time with his friends, Rhys rolls over in his bed, and picks up Jack’s present from where he’d put it on his nightstand. He lies there for a while, turning the box over in his hands and trying to figure out if it’s safe to open. With Jack, the possibility that the box was just a glitter bomb was…a very real possibility, as the glitter _still_ in the doorway of Rhys and Vaughn’s shared apartment attests to.

Groaning and clutching at his too-full belly, Rhys rolls off the bed to go to the bathroom, and holds the box out over the sink. He gingerly pulls the (naturally) yellow ribbon off, and then the cover of the box. When there’s no sign of anything glittery, he brings it closer to take a look.

It’s a belt, made of expensive looking leather that perfectly matches Rhys’ favorite pair of shoes, and coiled up to lie innocuously in the box.

Frowning, Rhys takes it out and uncoils it. Why did Jack want him to only open it at home? It doesn’t look in any way suspicious. He fingers the holes in the belt, and it takes him longer than it should to realize that the holes go _all_ the way up the length of the belt.

When he does though, the wave of arousal that hits him almost makes him gasp, and then he has to laugh because _of course_ Jack would get him a present that would also benefit him.

Still, he turns the belt over in his hands, fingers lingering over the expensive material, and he can’t help but smile as the beginnings of an idea form in his head.

Making a quick trip out to get his comm from where it’s charging beside his bed, he goes back into the bathroom and locks it again behind him, humming in anticipation. Taking up the belt, he pulls it on over his sleeping pants first, and takes a picture of it, looking kind of ludicrous over the soft cotton that’s totally not the first pair of sweatpants he’d…liberated from Jack, all that time ago.

Sending the picture off to Jack with the caption, “Thanks for the present!!”, he takes the belt off and loops it around his neck. He has to take a deep breath at the feeling, and at the sight of himself in the mirror, flushed, lips parted, the belt a stark slash across his neck. He swallows, and watches the belt move with his throat.

A small _ding!_ from his comm calls him back to the present, and he flicks through to get to Jack’s message, and laughs at the unimpressed face Jack sent him.

Taking a deep breath, and trying to look less aroused than he actually is right now, Rhys takes a picture of the belt, making sure to get his mouth and his collarbones in the shot. There’s a faint remnant of a bruise, at Jack’s favorite spot, that sits beneath the belt like a reminder. This time, Rhys doesn’t caption the photo, just sends it to Jack.

Taking off the belt and coiling it back inside its box, Rhys goes back to bed, placing the box with the belt on the table, and going to plug his phone in.

There’s no answering message from Jack, even after Rhys has detached his arm and set it to charge, and he eventually picks it up, thinking to send a proper message this time.

As he picks it up however, it rings, and Rhys answers the call immediately when he sees Jack’s name.

“Jack?”

There’s no reply for a long moment, only familiar breathing, heavy and almost labored.

“Are you alright?” Rhys asks, sitting up.

“Oh, kitten. I am _so_ going to get you back for that.” The connection clicks out, and Rhys goes to bed, laughing to himself at the strangled tone of Jack’s voice.

\---

“Man, it’s good to be back.” Rhys puts his hands on his hips, and admires his reflection in the shiny side of the Hyperion building does the same. The shiny new dataport on his temple never fails to surprise him each time he sees it, and his fingers go up to touch at it tentatively. Beside him, Vaughn’s adjusting his bowtie nervously, but when Rhys catches his eye, he grins, quick and pleased.

“Yeah, it really is. And as proper employees too! Dude, the employee pass is so much cooler than the intern pass,” Vaughn holds out his employee pass, examining it with delight.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Rhys takes his own out, and flips it over to see his picture, a rather flattering one for once, courtesy of Sasha.

“Man, I still can’t believe you’ve got your own private office on the 38th floor,” Vaughn says, voice tinged with wistfulness.

Rhys winces, because they’ve had this conversation before, but he never stops feeling kind of…guilty? Embarrassed, too, because _Jack_.

“I know, it’s weird. But it’s cool, you’re like, only 3 floors down bro, that’s closer than when we were interns! And anyway, who’s a badass who got promoted before he even started, eh?” He nudges Vaughn encouragingly. “Dude I can’t believe Henderson was so desperate to keep you he offered you _so much money_. Bro, soon you’ll be like, right up there on the 45th floor, and I’ll be the one begging to go visit you, yeah?”

Thankfully, the encouragement seems to work, and Vaughn brightens up.

“Don’t worry bro, I’ll always have a special place in my swanky office on the 45th floor for you,” Vaughn holds out a fist, and Rhys returns the brofist enthusiastically.

“Alright, c’mon, enough admiring ourselves, we should really get in.”

They take a deep breath, and step in together through the front doors. As they tap through to the employee elevators, Rhys wonders if the thrill of taking out his gold-edged Hyperion employee pass is ever gonna fade. God, he hopes not.

Before he gets off on the 35th floor, Vaughn turns back to Rhys, stopping the elevator doors with one hand.

“Oh right, don’t forget bro, we’re sending Sasha off tomorrow.”

“Ah, yeah. Man, I still can’t believe she’s going off to join Nisha’s crew.” Rhys shakes his head at the idea.

“I know!! And then Fiona’s moving in with Athena and Janey and, oh man bro, our kids are all growing up,” Vaughn sniffs melodramatically, and wipes at his eyes.

“Bro…being your co-parent was the best thing to ever happen to me,” Rhys wipes at his own eyes. “I’m sure our kids will be fine,” he leans forward to tenderly touch Vaughn’s face, but they both end up dissolving into laughter before he can reach.

“Alright, alright. You’re staying with Jack and Angel tonight right? Okay, see ya tomorrow bro.” Vaughn takes his hand off the elevator door to wave goodbye to Rhys before turning and heading into his offices.

“Bye, bro,” Rhys calls out as the elevator doors close.

It doesn’t take long before the elevator reaches his floor, and Rhys is stepping into his shiny new offices.

When he opens the door to his personal office, he lets out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding at the massive view of the stars behind the desk, spanning from ceiling-to-floor and wall-to-wall.

“Holy _crap_ ,” he whispers, and pinches himself.

In front, the massive chair at the desk turns around to reveal Jack sitting in it, smirking at Rhys.

“Welcome to your new digs, pumpkin. How d’you like it?” Jack leans back, and crosses his arms behind his head, still smirking.

Grinning, Rhys makes his way over, thoroughly enjoying the official, business-like sound of his shoes clicking against the floor. When he reaches, he leans his hip against the side of the desk, and crosses his arms to mirror Jack.

“Well hello there, Mr. President. Do you always welcome your new employees in such an…” Rhys tilts his head and licks his lips, not missing how Jack’s eyes flick immediately down to them. “ _Intimate_ manner?”

“Mm, I like to encourage my employees one-to-one. I find it makes them much harder…workers.” Jack leers at Rhys, who gives in and laughs.

“Okay that’s terrible, I give up, how do you keep a straight face while saying stuff like that?!” Snickering, Rhys moves to stand at the window, leaning his palms against it to stare outside.

“Man, this view is _amazing_ ,” he breathes out.

“Yeah? My view’s not too bad too, heh.”

Rhys turns around in time to catch Jack’s gaze as it lifts from where he’d been blatantly staring at Rhys’ butt.

At Rhys’ glare, Jack shrugs unapologetically, before getting up from the chair and heading over to Rhys. His hands land on Rhys’ shoulders, and begin to steer him back towards the chair.

“C’mon, sit in your chair, I got it custom-made for your butt and everything, gotta protect my interests, yunno. Go on, sit in it, tell me how it feels,” Jack nudges Rhys, who goes willingly and seats himself.

Wow, Jack hadn’t been kidding. The chair feels _perfect_ , soft and already warm from Jack’s body, and it shapes itself as he leans back in it, sliding smoothly underneath his back and thighs.

“Oh _man_ ,” Rhys sighs and tilts his head against the back of the chair, closing his eyes to better enjoy that feeling.

“Eh? Am I right?” Jack’s voice, self-congratulatory and proud, seems to be retreating, and Rhys cracks open one eye to see Jack stride across the office to lock the door. He hurriedly closes his eye again as Jack turns back, and listens to Jack’s booted footsteps make their way back over.

He expects the hand that comes up to trace at his cheek, and hums as he turns into it, smiling. What he’s not expecting is the foot that comes up to rest between his parted legs.

Startled, Rhys opens his eyes. In front of him, Jack’s seated himself on the desk, leaning forwards so that he can reach Rhys’ face while keeping his foot on the chair. When he sees Rhys’ eyes open, he grins down at him, the familiar grin that usually means he’s got an idea for something new that they’ll both probably enjoy very thoroughly.

Unable to help himself, Rhys smiles back.

“So, kitten. Where do you wanna start christening your office?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr! ssealdog @ tumblr
> 
> ps: sorry, i totally wrote the spanking/rimming scene but...chickened out of posting it last min OTL bc the catholic boy in me was just like [[[muffled screaming]]] so i..coulnd't ha ha ha s orry


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deleted scene from chapter 5, as requested by various people lmfao sorry to be a cockblock. originally posted on my tumblr, sorry for the spam, for those of you who've already read it!!

When Rhys closes the door to Jack’s rooms behind him, Jack’s nowhere to be seen, but he can hear water sounds from the bathroom. He walks over to the bedroom to wait for Jack, trepidation and anticipation prickling through his nerves and making him more jittery than normal.

As he walks into the bedroom, his eye catches on several strips of cloth laid out at the foot of the bed. Going over, he picks one up and runs it through his fingers. It’s made of some soft material with a little bit of give, silky and smooth to the touch. Each piece is about the width of two of his fingers, and his echo eye confirms that four of the five are exactly one meter long, with the last one shorter than the rest at 70cm. The deep red color of the strips that makes them stand out on the predictably yellow sheets seems wholly unlike Jack, and Rhys rubs at the strip in his hand, wondering why Jack had placed them here. And he must have; the strips hadn't been here earlier in the afternoon.

“Ah, you're back,” Jack comes up from behind Rhys to stand beside him, shirtless and scrubbing at his hair with a towel. “Figured out what they're for yet?” He reaches down to pick one up, flicking the end at Rhys.

“Um...I was guessing blindfold, but there are 5 of them and,” Rhys holds the strip in his hand up to the lights. “They're kinda sheer for blindfolds, aren't they?”

“Mm, close, but not quite.” Jack sits on the bed and beckons Rhys over to stand between his spread knees. When Rhys does so, he takes Rhys' flesh hand, and wraps the strip he's holding round Rhys' wrist, then grins wickedly up at him. “Got it?”

Rhys lets out a shaky laugh, and says, “Okay, so four are for my wrists and…ankles?” At Jack's nod, he continues. “The last one…” he swallows, and brings the hand Jack isn't holding up to rub at his throat.

“ _Very_ good, kitten.” Jack's voice is warm and the gleam in his eyes makes something deep inside Rhys curl up and shiver.

Keeping his voice as steady as he can, Rhys holds up the one in his hand and says, “Color doesn't seem much like you though.”

At that, Jack lets out a huff of laughter. “Nisha brought them over for me. She picked the color out, even though I told her you look _great_ in yellow.”

Rhys raises an eyebrow at that, because _nobody_ looks good in that eye-watering shade that Jack seems so fond of. Not even Jack. But he doesn't say it.

“Still,” Jack gives the cloth around Rhys' wrist a considering look. “Not bad, it'll do. Almost the same shade as the color you bruise, I'll give Nisha that. She's always had an eye for that kinda thing.” He gives the strip one last contemplative glance before pulling it off Rhys' wrist, and picking up the rest to toss them all towards the bedside table.

“That's for another day though, and only if you've been _very_ good. Now,” he pulls Rhys towards him by the hips and rests his chin on Rhys' stomach to grin up at him, anticipatory delight written in every line of his face. “What was that about you not being able to come again tonight?”

Rhys chokes and attempts to step back, out of Jack’s hold and away from Jack’s grinning face.

“Oh my god Jack, wh- okay first of all, please don’t say that when you’re so close to my crotch, seriously.”

“Why not?” Jack leers, and only pulls Rhys in tighter. “S’not like me and mini-Rhys here haven’t already been acquainted, isn’t that right, mini-Rhysie?” He coos obnoxiously, bending to nuzzle at Rhys’ crotch. “Ooh, Rhys’ piece! How d’you like that instead?”

“ _Please_ don’t nickname my dick, Jack,” Rhys pushes Jack’s face away, torn between amusement and embarrassment and being turned on, that last one probably more a reflex from Jack being so close to his crotch than anything. He hopes. Oh god.

“What, is it the mini thing you’re hung up about? Hah, hung, _man_ I crack myself up,” Jack sniggers, before sliding one hand into Rhys’ boxers and palming his dick firmly. “Don’t worry, kitten. It’s cute, I like your dick.”

“My dick is of perfectly average size!” Rhys splutters indignantly. “I- I’m a grower, not a shower, okay?”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t! I like your dick, babe, trust me,” Jack grins up at Rhys, and takes his hand out to lick at it, keeping eye contact all the while.

At that, Rhys can’t help but flush, eyes tracking the movement of Jack’s tongue between his fingers.

“Yeah? You like that?” Jack releases Rhys to lean back and place his hands behind him on the bed, spreading his legs. Rhys can’t help but glance appreciatively over Jack’s bare chest, broad and with a faint smattering of hair that’s interrupted in various places by scars both small and large. When he looks back up to meet Jack’s gaze, Jack only waggles his eyebrows at Rhys, grinning.

Rhys takes a deep breath, tells himself that Jack’s the one who suggested it in the first place, and says with an eyebrow raise of his own, “I thought you promised me a spanking?”

It’s disconcerting, the way Jack’s eyes dilate at that. The soft exhalation that comes out of his parted lips and the growing bulge of his erection, displayed so prominently by his parted legs, sends a heady rush of exhilaration through Rhys, coupled as it always is with incredulous hope. _He_ did that to Jack, somehow.

“Oh, _kitten_.” Jack reaches up to grab at the collar of Rhys’ shirt, tugging him down so that Rhys’ face hovers right above his own. “You have _no_ idea,” he leans forward, closing the gap, and kisses Rhys, hard and demanding.

Rhys closes his eyes and gives in to the kiss, parting his lips at the insistent press of Jack’s tongue and shuddering when the split in his lip breaks again, and all he can taste is Jack and blood and _Jack_ , salty sweet and so, so intoxicating.

Eventually, they break apart and Rhys straightens up, wiping at his mouth. The throb of his split lip is echoed by the heartbeat he feels pounding through his body as he stares down at Jack, who’s flushed and breathing slightly harder than before.

“So, uh. How should we- Should I be…preparing in some way?” Rhys runs a hand nervously through his hair, and breaks eye contact to glance around the room.

“You cleaned up during your shower just now already right?” Jack asks, sitting up and running one hand down Rhys’ side.

At Rhys’ nod, Jack grins, and stands up, turning Rhys and sitting him down so that their positions are reversed.

“Okay, sit tight pumpkin, Imma go get some stuff- ooh actually, do me a favor and check if I left the lube in the bedside drawer, will ya?” With a smacking kiss to Rhys’ forehead, Jack straightens and practically bounds out of the bedroom.

Flushed and smiling despite himself, Rhys gets up and goes over to the bedside table, where the lube indeed is, along with a strange assortment of things, including two packets of sweets, one very blunt knife, and a bundle of grease-stained cloth that Rhys nudges aside gingerly.

Holding the bottle of lube, he turns just in time to see Jack return, holding a bowl with a cloth draped over it, along with a small tub of what looks like cream.

“Oh, you found the lube? _Nice_. Just chuck it on the bed or whatever, and come on over here.” Jack places the bowl and tub onto the bedroom’s desk, and goes to sit at the foot of the bed, patting his knees.

Swallowing in trepidation, Rhys places the lube in the middle of the bed, and makes his way over to stand in front of Jack. When he reaches, he hovers uncertainly, not sure how Jack wants him to, oh god, sit on his lap.

Unfortunately, his indecision only makes Jack look up with a frown and say, “Don’t make me wait, kitten.”

“Right, um.” Rhys gestures nervously at Jack’s lap. “So, do you want me to uh, sit or lie over or-”

Rolling his eyes, Jack reaches up and yanks Rhys down so that he’s seated across Jack’s lap, and takes hold off Rhys’ chin to look him in the eye. “All I wanted was for you on my lap, pumpkin. I would’ve rolled with whatever you went with, c’mon, have some faith in me, seriously.” He pulls Rhys forward into a kiss, familiar and biting, which Rhys melts into with relief. Jack’s other hand slides under Rhys’ shirt to rub teasingly at the small of his back, making Rhys shiver.

Jack releases him with one last lick into his mouth, and pulls Rhys’ shirt off, with Rhys’ very willing help. Once Rhys’ shirt has been tossed off to the side, Jack maneuvers him until he’s lying face down across Jack’s parted knees, legs bent kind of awkwardly to keep his balance.

“Here, hold on to my ankle if you need help balancing,” Jack smooths a hand down Rhys’ back, and his other hand goes up to tilt Rhys’ face so he can lean down and plant a kiss on Rhys’ cheekbone.

Nodding, Rhys shifts so that he can grab Jack’s ankle with his flesh hand, placing his metal one flat on the ground. The feel of Jack’s ankle, bony and strong beneath his fingers, is oddly reassuring, and he takes a deep breath and consciously tries to relax.

“ _There’s_ a good boy,” Jack praises, hand warm and soothing on Rhys’ back, and that helps, Rhys feels something in him settle, and he relaxes, shifting to a slightly more comfortable position.

“How many do you think you can handle?” Jack’s hand slides down to cup Rhys’ butt, and Rhys shivers.

“I…I have no idea, honestly,” Rhys turns to look at Jack from the corner of his eye. “I trust you though, so…” he trails off at the expression on Jack’s face, odd and pleased and- surprised?

Whatever that expression was, it doesn’t stay on Jack’s face for very long, and he’s soon grinning down at Rhys, a smaller grin than his usual one but familiar nonetheless, and saying, “Heh, I’m honored, pumpkin. Let’s just go with five a cheek first and I’ll keep checking in on you, that sound good?”

At Rhys’ nod, Jack runs his left hand through Rhys’ hair, ruffling it. His right hand goes to rub at Rhys’ backside, and Rhys shivers in anticipation and arousal.

The first strike of Jack’s palm on his left cheek catches Rhys by surprise, and he cries out, jerking beneath Jack’s commanding grip on his nape at the way the jolt runs through his body like an electric current, kind of like when he leaves his arm charging for too long and gets a small shock when he hooks it back up. Jack’s hand rubbing firmly at the skin beneath the thin cloth of his boxers alleviates the sting somewhat, changes it into something warm and spreading, and Rhys feels himself getting hard against Jack’s thigh.

“That’s one, Rhysie, can you keep count for me?” Jack’s voice is dark and sweet, and Rhys can only nod and echo Jack helplessly.

“O-one!”

“ _Good_ boy,” Jack’s hand caresses Rhys’ cheek before lifting and coming down onto the other with a muffled smack.

“Two-,” Rhys gasps out, turning his face down to hide it in the side of Jack’s thigh as Jack’s hand goes back to massaging, warm and unrelenting, spreading the feeling until it feels like Rhys’ entire body is tingling along with the stinging skin of his backside.

“ _Three_ , ah!”

\---

By the time they hit ten, Rhys is squirming against Jack’s knees and crying out the count with every hit, erection pressing insistently against Jack’s thigh. Against the side of his stomach, he can feel Jack’s erection, hard and warm through Jack’s sweatpants.

Jack’s voice is slightly breathless when he asks, “You okay down there, pumpkin?” When Rhys turns his head to make eye contact, he has to swallow at the way Jack’s face looks, eyes dilated and flush spreading out around the edges of his mask, looking down at Rhys in something that almost looks like tenderness.

Oh.

_Oh._

Adjusting his grip on Jack’s ankle, Rhys nods, not trusting his voice right then. The proud, predatory look on Jack’s face that comes in response is too much, and he turns back to face Jack’s thigh, kissing it in lieu of saying anything.

Jack’s hand coming back down on the back of his thigh drives whatever half-formed thoughts he had out of his head, and Rhys arches into it.

“ _Eleven_! Ah! T-twelve!”

\---

At twenty, Jack stops, despite Rhys’ mumbled pleas to keep going, and helps him up, manhandling Rhys’ limp and uncooperative body to lie face down on the bed.

“Shh, shh, kitten, I got you, I got you.” Jack’s hands rub up and down Rhys’ sides, calling him back to himself as he lies, shaking, on the bed. “Here, I’m gonna go get something, but I’ll be right back, can you hold on for me babe?”

Rhys nods and closes his eyes against the glaring yellow of the bedspread, bringing his hands up to pat at the soft cloth beneath his face.

There’s a muted chuckle above him, and then the bed’s shifting and Jack’s warmth disappears from Rhys’ side, which _sucks_ , but Rhys clenches his teeth against the loss and doesn’t say a thing.

To his relief, Jack returns soon after, or so he thinks. An oddly cool hand brushes against the back of his knee, and Rhys jerks up, half-turning, irrationally fearful that it’s a stranger, because in his experience so far, Jack’s hands have been like Jack, running on the hot side, and very unlike these cold hands.

“It’s okay, it’s me.” Jack’s familiar voice soothes him, and he drops his head back to the bed, reaching out blindly with his flesh hand. The hand that takes it and raises it so that Jack can kiss the knuckles is cold, but familiar, and Rhys sighs and opens his eyes.

“Why are your hands so cold?”

Beside him, Jack beams down at him. “Here, watch-,” he says, and gives Rhys’ hand one last kiss before placing it back down. He then gets off the bed to stand behind Rhys, and tugs at Rhys’ boxers until they come off and Rhys is lying naked on the bed, legs dangling off the edge on either side of Jack.

Rhys turns and props himself up to watch Jack curiously, and Jack grins at him before planting both his _ice-cold_ hands on Rhys’ buttocks.

Yelping, Rhys kicks out at Jack. “ _Jack_! God, that’s cold!”

“Yeah-huh, c’mon, stop kicking, this’ll feel nice after a bit, really,” Jack spreads his legs to keep Rhys’ knees apart, and places his hands back on the red, stinging skin of Rhys’ upper thighs.

Grumbling, Rhys subsides, and to his surprise, the cool feeling actually does begin to feel nice after a while.

“Told ya.” Jack’s voice is smug, and Rhys rolls his eyes and turns back to face the head of the bed.

“Man, your butt looks so pretty like this, Rhysie, I gotta tell ya. All red by my hand, I wish you could see how _pretty_ it is,” Jack hums, and leans down to plant a kiss on each cheek, ignoring Rhys’ embarrassed snort of laughter.

Jack’s hands continue to pat slowly at Rhys’ butt and upper thighs, cooling the hot skin down and massaging them gently, and Rhys relaxes, losing himself in the sensation and in Jack’s contented humming behind him.

Which is why he’s taken completely by surprise when Jack’s hands go to push his cheeks apart, and there’s a warm, wet tongue flicking against his hole.

“Wha- _ah_!” Gasping, Rhys flinches away from the unfamiliar, almost uncomfortable sensation.

“Stop wriggling about, I’m trying to rim you here,” Jack’s voice is amused, despite the chiding words, and Rhys turns back again to glare at him.

“What? C’mon, don’t tell me you _don’t_ want me to rim you,” kneeling between Rhys’ legs and looking smugger than he has any right to be, Jack raises an eyebrow challengingly at Rhys.

Rhys…can’t say that he doesn’t want Jack to rim him, but he refuses to admit that Jack’s right, damnit, so he just turns back with a huff, pointedly ignoring Jack’s laughter.

This time, he’s anticipating it, so naturally Jack goes and does the opposite of what he’s expecting, and instead begins to leave kisses across his buttocks, scraping his teeth over skin that’s already sore and abused, and sending shocks of pain/pleasure through Rhys.

“Damnit, Jack!”

“Hm?”

Rhys groans and thunks his head down on the bed. “Can you- can you please just, oh my god, seriously!”

“I dunno, I could, but you haven’t told me what you want me to do yet,” Jack sniggers into Rhys’ left buttcheek.

God, what has Rhys even gotten himself into? 

“Seriously?!”

“Uhhuh. I’m not gonna do it till you ask for it, kitten. I mean, I might ask outright if I thought there was a chance you didn’t actually want it, but eh, I’m willing to bet you’re into rimming. And anyway, it’s always _way_ more fun to make you squirm.” Rhys can’t see it, but he’s about 90% sure Jack’s leering right now.

“Oh my god.”

“Still not hearing a request, babe.”

“Fine, oh my god!” Giving up, Rhys buries his head into the bedspread, and mumbles as fast as he can, “Please rim me.”

“C’mon, Rhysie, you’re killing me over here! Did you even try? Ooh, aw your face is as red as your butt, that’s _adorable_.” Jack gets up to lean over Rhys, one hand coming up to tug Rhys’ face away from the bedspread so he can grin down at Rhys.

Glaring hotly up at him, Rhys tries to will his blush down, to no avail apparently, because Jack just leans forward to bite against Rhys’ jaw.

“Alright, fine, I’ll give it to you this time, pro bono, because I’m generous in bed like that,” Jack snickers, and pushes back into a kneeling position between Rhys’ legs. “Next time though, next time I’m gonna make you ask for it properly. _Man_ , that’s gonna be fun.”

Rhys opens his mouth to retort, retort what exactly, he has no idea, because just then, his cheeks are being spread, and there’s a warm tongue licking at his hole, and all that comes out of Rhys’ mouth is a strangled cry.

Jack’s tongue is hot and wet and clever, flicking against the sensitive edges of his hole while his hands, beginning to warm up again, knead gently at Rhys’ cheeks, and Rhys just clings on to the bedspread and tries not to pass out at the sensations, overwhelming and so good, so fucking _good_.

His dick, pressed between him and the bed, is probably leaving a sticky mess everywhere as he writhes helplessly on Jack’s tongue, and he’s pretty sure he’s gonna come soon.

“J-ah, Jack! I’m gonna, gonna come-,” he gasps, alternatively rutting down into the bed and back against Jack’s mouth.

“Uh uh, not yet!” Jack breaks away, panting, and pulls Rhys back, further off the bed, until his dick is swinging in the air with nothing to rub against.

“ _No_ , please, Jack,” Rhys sobs. Goddamnit he was so _close_. “Please just let me-.”

“Not yet, kitten, soon, I promise.” Jack’s voice is rough, and when Rhys turns to look pleadingly up at him, his eyes are dark and full of promise.

Whining, Rhys turns back and thunks his head against his crossed arms in despair.

“Shh, it’s okay, c’mon, do you think you can handle six more? Three a cheek, I promise I’ll let you come after that babe,” Jack leans up to plant a kiss on Rhys’ hairline, and picks up the lube from where it’s lying above Rhys’ head. He uncaps the bottle and slicks up one hand with familiar ease, and leans down to mouth along the back of Rhys’ neck.

Rhys nods, and receives a kiss on his earlobe for that, before Jack’s marking a path down Rhys’ back with hot, stinging kisses, and there’s a slick finger sliding into Rhys’ hole, already wet and open from Jack’s tongue earlier.

The cool air of the room against his dick does a lot to help him come off the edge, despite the finger, now fingers, sliding into his hole. Unlike the first time they had sex, Jack’s opening of Rhys is perfunctory, and Rhys wonders if he’s just impatient to get back to the spanking. God knows Rhys definitely is. Part of him wonders why Jack doesn’t leave the fingering for after, but just as he opens his mouth to ask, Jack’s fingers leave his body, and Rhys waits in anticipation.

Then there’s something hard and unyielding and _really fucking cold_ sliding its way into his ass, and Rhys yelps, trying to jerk away.

“Stay _still_ , kitten.” Jack’s voice is warning, and Rhys freezes instinctively, trembling as the cold object slides in easily at first, then harder as it widens, and then the last bit slides in easiest of all before it stops, held back by a base.

“Ah- s’cold, Jack, what?” Rhys whimpers, turning to try and see what Jack’s doing.

“I wanna see if you can handle the last six with something in you, and I bet you can, huh, you’re so good, Rhysie, so good and perfect and pretty,” Jack leans down over Rhys’ back to kiss Rhys’ temple, smoothing his damp hair back. “You like the cold? Had it placed in a bowl of ice since just now, thought you might like the contrast.” His fingers tangle in Rhys’ hair and tugs his face up so he can give Rhys a bruising kiss, which Rhys returns dazedly.

“Ready for the last six?”

Rhys nods, gulping, and moves to get up so he can get back on Jack’s lap, but is stopped by Jack’s hand on his back.

“That’s okay, kitten, just stay like this.” Jack goes to stand between Rhys’ legs, one hand going down to massage at Rhys’ left cheek. That only makes the plug shift in Rhys, and he gasps, arching against the unfamiliar sensation, the cold unyielding pressure in his ass.

“I’ll count this time for you, kay? You’ve been doing so well, babe, so well.” Jack’s voice is soothing, but then his hand comes down in a crack on Rhys’ bare skin.

Rhys _screams_ , arching up and throwing his head back at the sensation. _God_ that feels sharp without clothes, and the sting that runs through him is only made stronger by the way the plug jolts, right against his prostate.

“Ah! God, Jack! Ah, f-,” he sobs.

“That’s it, pumpkin, you’re doing so well. Five more, c’mon,” Jack’s rough voice is followed up by a smooth crack, on Rhys’ other side, and Rhys cries out again, sobbing against the unrelenting pleasure/pain, hands twisting in the sheets of the bed helplessly.

“Four more, babe, you can do this.”

_Smack!_

“Three.”

_Smack!_

The tears are spilling out from Rhys’ eyes in a stream now, and he cries unashamedly as he thrusts back against Jack’s hand, begging for more almost deliriously.

“Two,” Jack’s panting now, and one of his hands comes up to smooth absently along Rhys’ back.

_Smack!_

“One more, Christ you’re beautiful like this,”

_Smack!_

Rhys sobs as Jack’s hands gently but firmly go to tug at the plug, pulling it out, and he gasps at the empty, aching sensation.

“Jack, Jack _please_ , pl- oh god,” he whines between hitched breaths, pushing back against Jack’s hands.

“I got you, I got you,” Jack’s hands pull Rhys up by the waist until he’s kneeling at the edge of the bed, and then there’s a warm tongue flicking easily into his gaping, empty hole, almost burning in contrast to the cold of the plug from earlier, and there’s a hot hand coming up to curl around his dick, and with a shout, Rhys comes, jerking against Jack’s hands.

His orgasm seems to last forever, aided by the fingers pressing into his hole alongside Jack’s tongue to brush firmly against his prostate, and the hand milking his dick as he shudders and slowly comes down from orgasm to collapse against the bed, tears drying sticky against his face.

“That’s it, god, you’re beautiful like this, ah _Christ_ ,” Jack grabs him by the legs and turns him over with ease, Rhys’ body moving pliantly as he blinks dazedly, trying to gather his wits. When he gathers himself enough to look down, Jack’s standing between his legs, sweatpants shoved down and one hand stripping his dick as he watches Rhys with unbridled lust in his eyes.

“Kitten, aw hell, you’re so _good_ ,” Jack pants when Rhys makes eye contact with him, leaning forward until he’s curled above Rhys so he can bend down and kiss him, the hand on his cock brushing against Rhys’ stomach with every stroke.

“C’mon, fuck me,” Rhys mumbles, hands languidly moving up to curl around Jack’s shoulders and pull him in closer. His legs take a while to respond, and then he’s hooking Jack in, crossing his feet behind Jack’s back.

“Christ, you sure, Rhys?” One of Jack’s hands goes to touch Rhys’ ass gingerly, and Rhys doesn’t even feel the sting, too busy trying to pull Jack in closer.

“Yeah, just- c’mon,” Rhys groans, and to his relief, Jack obeys without any more questions and leans back to guide his dick to Rhys’ hole, and then he’s sliding in easily, a hard pressure filling him up in a way that feels more than good, and Rhys sighs happily.

“Ah, g-goddamnit,” Jack stutters, thrusting into Rhys frantically. The slap of his thighs against Rhys’ backside is probably gonna make Rhys regret everything, but the feeling of his dick sliding in and filling him up makes Rhys whimper and move his hips in response.

It doesn’t take long before Jack’s exhaling harshly and grinding against Rhys’ ass, slumped into the crook of Rhys’ neck.

They lie there for a long while, panting, and Rhys deliriously thinks, thank god he hadn’t died at the museum, because then he’d have missed out on _this_.

Then suddenly Jack’s jerking up, yelping.

Rhys yelps too, as Jack’s softening cock slides out of him and a small rush of come slides out to drip down the crease of his crotch uncomfortably.

“ _Condoms_!” Above Rhys, Jack looks frazzled, and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. “Fricking condoms! Christ, kitten, I hadn’t planned on screwing you, just maybe coming over your face or something, goddamnit you’re too distracting, aw man!” He stands up and begins to pace around in front of the bed.

Rhys sits up, wincing at the uncomfortable feeling of come sliding out of him and the realization.

“Ah, crap, you’re right. Uh, if it helps though, you’re the only person I’ve ever, well,” Rhys trails off.

“Oh.” Jack pauses from where he’s pacing to stare at Rhys. “Well, last I checked, a couple of months ago, I’m clean. And I haven’t since- the last stranger I tried to pick up threw up all over my house when I brought him home, so.”

Scowling, Rhys reaches around for the nearest thing, which turns out to be the bottle of lube, and flings it at Jack. “That was _not_ all over your house!”

Chuckling, Jack catches the bottle easily and sets it on the desk in front of the bed before coming over to push Rhys back so he can hover over him.

“Seriously though. Thank you, Rhys.” Without waiting for a reply, he leans down and kisses Rhys, licking at the dried tear tracks pulling tight across Rhys’ face.

Snickering, Rhys shoves him away. “Oh my god, Jack, _gross_.”

“C’mon, you totally cried, it was super hot, your face was all red and _actual tears_ ,” Jack props himself up on his elbows to grin down at Rhys.

“Ha ha,” Rhys rolls his eyes, and shoves Jack off to the side. “God, c’mon, we should probably clean up, it’s really late and-,” he’s cut off by a yawn. “Man, sex is way more tiring than I thought it would be,” he finishes, once he’s done yawning.

“Yeah? That’s just cause you’re doing it with someone _awesome_.” Jack rolls off the bed and glances back at Rhys. “Tell you what, you did really good today, kitten. Just lie back and relax, I’ll clean up, don’t worry.”

Nodding sleepily and yawning again, too exhausted to question it, Rhys curls up on his side, and watches Jack with half-closed eyes.

Jack places the buttplug back into the bowl it came from, metal clinking against what sounds like water and ice, before bringing the entire thing to the bathroom. Rhys closes his eyes and turns his face into the bedspread, sighing.

A cool touch along the gentle burning sensation along his thighs pulls him half out of sleep a while later, but when he fuzzily turns around to ask what’s going on, Jack’s hand smooths his hair back and tells him to go back to sleep, and so he does.


End file.
